Falling Stars and Cigarettes
by Forgot-to-remember01
Summary: Sibley doesn't need to be taken care of. After all, since she was young, she paid the bills, cleaned the house, cooked the food. She can take care of herself. Social Services disagrees and so does Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1: One Of Those Days

Sibley turned the metal key in the rusty lock, using her body to shove the door open and stumble into her flat. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, clinging to the sofa and invading her lungs. She coughed slightly, slamming the door behind her and locking it back. Her mother was sitting in the ratty green arm chair, a cigarette poised between her middle and forefinger, a beer in her right hand. For a moment, Sibley just watched the condensation roll down the bottle and down the woman's bony fingers. She looked older than she actually was. Her eyes sunk into her skull, her hair had begun to grey, and wrinkles sat onto her cheek bones. Years of drug and alcohol abuse made her look more like she was sixty than thirty eight.

"One of those days, huh?" she asked cautiously.

"It's always one of those days," the older lady slurred. That was all Sibley needed to hear, that voice, that slur, to nod and rush into her tiny room. She sighed, slinging her bag onto the floor. The once light brown carpet was dirty, dark brown splotches in random spots around the room. Dirt caked the sides of the one tiny window she had and a crack ran through the middle of it. One day she would escape those four, chipped, dirty, walls, but not that day. She fell onto her mattress that sat pushed up into corner of the room. That same moment her mother called her.

"Sibley! When are you gonna make dinner?!" she shouted. The teenager groaned, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them again and walking out of the room.

"What do you want?" she asked, moving into the kitchen. She watched her mother spin the bottle of beer in her hand before looking up.

"I think we should go out. We could get fish and chips! Just you and me!" she exclaimed, grinning like a maniac.

"We can't afford that right now, Mum," she sighed.

"Hmph, you ruin all the fun," her mother huffed. Sibley just shook her head and opened the pantry. There wasn't much. A few cans of soup, a box of rice, half a loaf of bread. She moved to the fridge. Cheese, half a stick of margin, left over spaghetti, and an apple.

"I need to go grocery shopping," she muttered, pulling out the cheese and margin.

"Grilled cheese tonight," she said, grabbing a pot and some bread.

"We had grilled cheese last night," her mother complained.

"Well I'll go shopping tonight, but for now, this is what we have." She was growing irritated. While her mother sat on her arse all day drinking and smoking and occasionally screwing some stranger, Sibley worked. She dropped out of school the year before because they were practically starving. She was tired of this. She actually enjoyed school. She had hoped to go to college and become a detective. It was her dream. But because of her mother, she had to become a high school drop out, goodbye Cambridge or Oxford, hello shop worker for the rest of her life.

Once her mother was fed, she headed out the door, hailing a cab on her first try, and climbing in. She ran a hand through her curly black hair and allowed herself to sink into the seat. She was done with everything. Taking care of her mother was exhausting and it's not like the woman deserved it. Like she was sick or something. She was just selfish and lazy. Dealing with her was like dealing with a child.

Her card hadn't gotten her very far. She was able to get a new loaf of bread and some lunch meat, though, and hopefully that would last them for two weeks before she got paid. When she arrived back at the house her mother was passed out drunk on the couch. Loud snores echoed in the room, proving the older woman wouldn't be up until afternoon the next day. Sibley shook her head and began to clean the place.

Their flat was disgusting and always smelt like smoke and alcohol. That was thanks to her mother smoking and spilling stuff all over the place. Leave it to that woman to completly trash the place in just the eight hours Sibley was at work. Glass bottles littered the floor along with random candy wrappers and old cigarettes. Any man the woman met was instantly wrapped around her little finger and brought her anything she wanted, that's where she got all of the crap from. Sibley wasn't sure why, maybe they saw the ghost of who she once was.

Once upon a time, Bre Lawrence was beautiful. Before the drugs and the alcohol. Before she lost her head. Before she began acting more like Sibley's child than her mother. She had silky blonde hair and green eyes that shimmered in the sunlight. Her smile was warm and bright and contagious. She was a genius, studied law when she was at Uni. Then she met a man who turned her world upside down, and gave her a baby. He was gone before she had a chance to tell him.

For the first six years of Sibley's life, she was fine. Stressed from raising a child on her own, but she stayed positive, happy, kind. Then she met a new man. This one was controlling and eventually abusive. Eventually he was arrested, Sibley herself made the call, but Bre was never the same again. She dove into all sorts of addictions, slowly but surely deteriorating into the woman she was now. Just a hollow, dead, tree that can crumble with the slightest touch.

Sibley sighed as she finished sweeping the kitchen. The flat was clean, despite the smell, but it still made her stomach churn. It still wasn't home. Wasn't comfortable. It was cold and empty and lonely. It was the beginning of December and the heater was broken, so that didn't help matters. At this thought she walked into her mother's room, deciding to pull some blankets from the closet. She stood on the tips of her toes as she reached on the top shelf. Sadly, it didn't work out for her, and everything came tumbling out with the blanket she had grabbed.

She huffed, exasperated, and began to clean up the mess. The only thing up here besides blankets had been a box Sibley didn't recognize. It opened in the fall and the contents spilt out over the already dirty carpet. She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing as she picked up the closest thing to her. It was a photograph, her mother, clearly in her early twenties, her head on the shoulder a man who had an arm wrapped around her. Sibley ran her thumb over his face. His smile showed that clearly he hadn't wanted to take the picture, but he had affection for the woman next to him. A mop of curly dark hair sat on his head and his blue eyes looked straight at the camera and sent shivers down her spine. In the lower right corner there was a date printed in red. 5/12/2001. Nine months before her birthday. She flipped it over to see if she could find anymore information. One name.

Sherlock Holmes


	2. Chapter 2: Something Familiar

Sibley set the photo down and took in a deep breath. There was no doubt in her mind that the man in the picture was her father. She had never cared before. She asked about him a few times when she was little and began school to find that everyone else had both a mum and a dad. After that, though, she had no interest. He was just a man. Still, now that she was staring a proof that he exists and that she wasn't just some freak of nature, she found herself wondering.

She looked over to see what else was there. What she found furthered her suspicions on the man's identity. There was an old positive pregnancy test in a plastic bag. A few candid Polaroids of the mysterious man looking into a microscope or reading a book, or writing something down. Her birth certificate. It said the same thing it always did, though, Father: unknown.

She quickly packed everything back into the box except for the first photo, and took the blankets into the sitting room, draping them over the sofa. As she got ready for bed she took the photo and tucked it in her sock drawer.

"Maybe one day." she muttered before walking into her bedroom, and climbing into bed.

"You're firing me?!" Sibley cried, following her boss who wasn't paying her much attention.

"Yep, we gotta new guy coming in to take your place. We're trying to get older workers," he said. Sibley huffed, turning around to grab her things. What was she going to do now?

Eventually she found herself sitting on a chair in the morgue talking to Molly Hooper. She hadn't seen Molly in quite some time, they knew each other through her mother's happier days and occasionally one would visit the other.

"Well, I could find you a job here," Molly offered. At this, Sibley perked up.

"Really? That would be awesome. It's obviously the closest I'll ever get to being an actual detective," she grinned.

"Oh, now don't say that,"

"Molly, I'm a highschool drop out what Uni is going to take me? Besides, I can't exactly afford it," she sighed with an eye roll.

"We'll talk about this later. Anyway, Lestrade owes me, we don't typically hire underage obviously, but I'm sure there's something you could do."

And that's how Sibley found herself carrying two trays of coffee into Scotland Yard and passing them out to the detectives. Her job was simple enough, make coffee and food runs, fill out what little paper work she could, and other office like things around the place. When she was finished with the first day, she was so tired and excited, that she forgot all about Sherlock Holmes. He didn't come up until a month later, long enough for her to completely push him out of her mind.

This was going to be Sibley's seventh time at a crime scene. In the mornings when calls were made about dead bodies or shops being robbed, she was asked to bring everyone their morning coffee. She already knew everyone's orders by heart, due to her superb memory, and was already rocking at her job. She learned the system on the first day and worked officiantly and quickly.

Today there were two men whom she had never gotten coffee for. She handed everyone their drinks, rounding to Sally Donovan, a woman whom Sibley enjoyed being around, as she treated the teenager just like another part of the team rather than a kid.

"Run while you can, the freak's here," she said, taking the cup.

"Who?" Sibley asked.

"Him," she said, gesturing to a curly haired man, crouching over the dead body. She squinted slightly, there was something familiar about him.

"Do you see it, John?" he asked, looking to another stranger. This man was short, with dirty blonde hair speckled with grey. His hands were perfectly still, but in a position of readiness. She assumed he was a doctor. Probably military with his posture and awareness of what was going on around him.

"See what, Sherlock?" he sighed, a bit of annoyance laced in his tone. They knew each other well, he was used to this and the man- Sherlock, a familiar name, why couldn't she figure it out?- often edged on his nerves.

"No, no, I can't tell you, you have to figure it out." Sherlock said. When John still looked lost, he sighed "Look at his clothing," he offered. John didn't reply and Sibley found her eyes sweeping over the body. Before she could think about it, she found herself speaking.

"He didn't die here. His body was moved," she took a sharp breath after she said it, biting her lip as everyone turned to her. She was a quiet, observant person. The one that always sat in the back or stood in a corner and watched and heard everything, but said nothing. A background character that no one paid any mind. Now all of the attention was on her.

"Oh, I mean- I don't- uh-" she was cut off.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, uh, Sibley," she said.

"You're correct Sibley. Can you tell me why?" he asked, his blue eyes boring into hers. She felt a familiar shiver run through her body, she was on the verge of remembering but not there yet.

"His shoes. The soot on them aren't from anywhere around here," she looked up to see if she should go on, Sherlock nodded, she knelt down to the body, "its also on the end of his pants and on the back of his shirt as well as a few tears. He was clearly dragged away. I would guess the dirt isn't the kind you'd find in the city, but out in the country probably. Someone went out of their way to drag him, throw him into their car, and take him here. You can tell he was in the trunk of a small car, as the way his pants are creased at the knee, showing that his legs were bent up.

"If someone put him here they clearly wanted him to be found. They did a pretty good job at cleaning up other clues though, so they don't want to get caught, not a psychopath. My guess is he's trying to send a message. Since there is no note it's probably has something to do with who this person is." she let her eyes travel to his face and mouth, "It looks like he was poisoned with something that would foam by his lips, they're a bit crusty. Any similar deaths? That could help figure out the message and then the person," she finished her rambling and saw a bunch of wide eyes. Sherlock was the only one who looked unsurprised, he was just smirking. She cleared her throat and stood up.

"You would be correct on your observations. So far you're the only officer I've met who's not a complete blundering idiot, my apologies Gavin," Sibley turned to see Lestrade roll his eyes.

"You mean Greg?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"He always gets it wrong," John said to her.

"Oh, uh... Er, coffee?" she asked.

"No, too valuable to make coffee runs. Come with us," Sherlock turned and walked away, flipping the collar of his trench coat up. She looked to her boss who shrugged.

"If you would like to go with him, you may," Lestrade sighed.

"Will I still get my pay?" she asked.

"If Sherlock says you were effective then I don't see why not," he replied.

"Coming, then?!" Sherlock called, preparing to get into a cab, John already inside. Suddenly, she almost visibly face palmed. Sherlock Holmes. 5/12/01.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself, before running after him, and climbing into the back.

"So Sibley, only child, takes care of the house?" Sherlock asked her as she climbed in.

"Oh no, don't start Sherlock, you'll scare her away," John's tone was light and friendly, but she could hear a slight strain. Sibley bobbed her head, her anxiety levels having sky rocketed upon realizing just who she was sitting with.

"Uh, yeah, it's just me and my mother," she said, not one for saying 'mum' unless talking to the woman.

"Not a very good relationship, I presume, you take care of her more than she takes care of you. No mother would let her daughter go out of the house with messy hair and a hole in the bottom of her shirt. Especially if she's working," he explained. Sibley's eyes widened as she looked down at her shirt.

"Oh no, this was a good shirt," she sighed, picking at the hole.

"Ah, poor then," he said.

"Sherlock, please," John begged.

"Well, you said yourself, I take care of my mother. I pay all the bills, get all the groceries, do you really think I can afford shopping sprees? You know it's very rude to point out what you deduce of people. Not everyone wants to hear what you have to say." she snapped.

"Is that what your mother tells you?" he asked.

"What?"

"What you just said. You can deduce very well but it makes you nervous to say it out loud. Clearly you've been trained to keep it in since you were a child," he said.

"Well, I stand by what I say, it is rude to loudly deduce people. In any case, yes, my mother thinks I'm a bit too much like my father,"

"Ahh, and who is he?" he asked. She blinked, chewing the inside of her cheek before speaking.

"You're the genius, figure it out, Mr. Holmes," she told him. John smiled.

"Oh, you're great," he said. She smiled back at him.

"Thank you, Doctor Watson," she said.

"Did I tell you I was a doctor?" now he was frowning and Sherlock was the one with the amused grin on.

"No you did not," she didn't offer anything else, she just looked out the window and watched as London passed. She felt Sherlock's eyes on her for the rest of the ride, but chose to ignore it.

"Where are we?" she asked when the cabbie pulled up to a flat on Baker Street.

"221B Baker Street, it's our flat. It's also where we work on cases," John told her as they came out.

"So have there been similar murders?" she asked as Sherlock opened the door.

"Two." John answered.

"Sherlock, who is this?" an older lady asked as they walked into the flat.

"Sibley Lawrence," she answered before Sherlock, giving the woman a small smile.

She stepped onto the flat and looked around. It was a bit cluttered, but it somehow made her feel at home. Sitting on the mantel was a skull, right next to the hilt of a knife, the blade buried deep into the wood. The next thing she noticed was the large smiley face, bullet holes sitting inside of it. She tentively walked forward, taking everything in, brushing her fingers against the holes in the wall and the dust on the books. Her father had obviously only been living here a little over a year, so she wouldn't have grown up here, but most likely a similar setting. She tried to imagine herself running around the flat as a little girl, her nose in one of the many, old, informative books as she had always been that kind of kid. Being picked up before she could run into something dangerous or break one of Sherlock's artifacts. Giggling as her mom scolded Sherlock for shooting the wall.

"What are you smiling at?" John's voice pulled her out of her daydreaming. She blushed, pointing her gaze to the old green carpet.

"Sorry, just... Thinking," she said before looking up again and smiling.

"Well if you could turn your thoughts to something more important," Sherlock waved a crime scene photo at her and she rolled her eyes, moving to the couch, taking the photo on the way, and falling into the cushions, tucking her feet underneath her.

"Fine then, Mr. Holmes, let's get to work."


	3. Chapter 3: Play Nice

A loud knock on the door jerked Sibley out of her sleep. The day before had been long, pouring over images and evidence with her father and his partner, finally stumbling in around two in the morning. Looking at her alarm clock she discovered, horrified, that she had slept in... Till 2:30.

"Oh my God!" she practically fell out of the bed as she scrambled to get dressed and ran to answer the door.

"Molly? What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling on her tattered coat and closing the door behind her.

"Oh, I came to see where you were. I was worried Sherlock had said something." she said.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she hailed a cab and told him where to go.

"He has a habit of being insulting. I thought maybe you were upset and that's why you weren't at work." she said.

"No, no, Mr. Holmes was fine, bit annoying, but nothing I can't handle. I guess I'm just tired. Detective Lestrade isn't upset, is he?" she asked, clutching the end of her jumper in concern.

"No, no, he was also worried, to be quite honest. Sherlock is unpredictable," Molly said. Sibley studied her and let a light smile tug at her lips. Molly had a crush.

"Better to be unpredictable than boring," she pointed out. Molly giggled.

"That's something he would say," she said. Sibley brightened at this.

"Is it?" she asked. Molly nodded. Finally they pulled up to Scotland yard.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" Sibley questioned, hovering in the doorway.

"Yes, have fun at work," she waved and Sibley closed the door. The cab sped off in the direction of Barts Hospital and Sibley walked towards the office.

"Ah, there you are, I was worried the freak had kidnapped you," Sally teased.

"He's not a freak. Different, yes, but not a freak," Sibley defended. She felt her stomach turn when hearing her father be insulted.

"Hmm, clearly you didn't spend very much time with him," she said. Sibley bit her lip and just walked away from her.

"Detective Inspector?" she asked, leaning and knocking on his open office door. He looked up from some papers and smiled warmly at her.

"Ah, there you are. How did Yesterday go?" he asked.

"Fine. Mr. Holmes is quite the character," she said, a small smile on her face.

"Definitely so. Well, he said he would like to see you again today. It's up to you," Lestrade said. She brightened, her smile growing.

"He did? I would love too!" she exclaimed a bit too excitedly. Lestrade chuckled.

"Strange, Sherlock seems to have taken a liking to you. He doesn't like many people," Lestrade said to her.

"Oh," she had figured this. After spending time with him she had diagnosed him as a high functioning sociopath so this revelation didn't surprise her. The fact that Sherlock liked her did. She wouldn't have guessed it, he was a bit cold. Then again, she could tell the difference between a generally cold person and someone who's protecting themselves, Sherlock was the latter.

"Thank you, sir. Should I go down to 221 Baker Street?" she questioned. He nodded and waved her off. She rushed out and to a cab, all too eager to see her father again.

Father. She wasn't typically the person to hide things and be secretive. She had always assumed if she met her father, she'd be straight forward with him. Then she met Sherlock and she couldn't. She didn't know how to approach the topic or how he would react. He clearly despised feelings and attachment so would he be excepting of a daughter or would he push her away? Would he want anything to do with her once he found out who she was? Telling him held so many possibilities and outcomes she wouldn't prefer. She was safer with this secret. It was protection. After all, nobody liked to be rejected.

The cabbie stopped and she hopped out, moving to the green door and clutching the knocker. The door swung open to reveal Mrs. Hudson, a large smile on her face.

"Oh, hello dear! The boys left a bit ago, they should be back soon, why don't you wait upstairs?" Mrs. Hudson asked her. She nodded and went up to 221B and sat in her father's arm chair.

It took all of 2 and half minutes for the young woman to get antsy. Needing to do something. Put her hands on something. She stood up again and walked around the flat, observing a little closer now. She looked through drawers and cupboards and rooms, trying to find something interesting. Surely there had to be something, the man was a consulting detective who thrived off of the strange cases in life. She read Doctor Watsons blog after getting home the night before. There was no way the man in the stories didn't have anything cool around.

"Snooping?" Sherlock's baritone voice stopped her in her tracks. She closed the drawer she was looking in and turned around, smiling sheepishly.

"S-sorry, Mr. Holmes. I was bored," she shrugged, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Both men smirked, seemingly amused.

"Sherlock, I think you've met a mini you," John laughed. She sighed in relief when no one scolded her or threw her out.

"Mr. Holmes, why do you keep heads and food in the same fridge? Couldn't you get another?" she asked.

"Seriously? You found one of his severed heads and that's the question your asking?" John raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.

"I've always wanted to experiment on things like that. Mr. Holmes has access to a morgue. Why not take advantage?" she asked.

"Hm, someone who understands. John, I think it's time to replace you," Sherlock teased.

"By all means. Your welcome to take my place Sibley, Sherlock is a piece of work," John scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes.

"Now then, boys, play nice," Sibley snickered. Sherlock watched her for a second before speaking.

"We are seeing clients today. Thought you'd like to join in. I couldn't bear the thought of someone of your intelligence fetching coffee." Sherlock said. She smiled at the compliment before realizing what he had said.

"Clients? I thought we were on a case," she said.

"Solved it this morning. You in or not?" he asked.

"I-in, of course."

Two days later, another case solved, Sibley was high on excitement as she sat in the back of the cab, grinning like an idiot. John was smirking at her and Sherlock- he was watching her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He had been acting so strange for this case and he was beginning to make her uneasy. Once they got inside 221B and were all drinking evening tea, he spoke.

"Who, are you, Sibley?" he asked.

"S-sorry?" she asked, cursing herself for stuttering. She really wished she could get rid of that habit but she couldn't help it.

"You're keeping a secret, what is it?" he asked. She could hear a hint of frustration in his demanding tone and she drew back in her chair a bit.

"Sherlock." John chided.

"What are you hiding?" Sherlock just repeated, voice more cold than she had yet heard it.

"Oh- uh- I don't... I'm n-not an open book b-but I don't have a-any d-dark secrets," she felt her pulse begin to rise and her hands shake. Anxiety washing over her like a tidal wave.

"Sherlock, you're scaring her for christ sakes, drop it."

"Hush, John. This is important, Sibley. I don't trust you and I can't work with someone I don't trust," he said. She was confused, since he had been the one to ask her in the first place not too long before. She assumed he was just waiting for the right time.

"Mr. Holmes, p-please, I-I can't." she felt tears rising to her eyes.

"Can't what? Tell me? You must." he barked, standing.

The rational side of her knew he was just frustrated he didn't have all of the answers, but the rational side never out screamed the anxious side. She whimpered, backing up into the chair and gripping the sides with white knuckles. He towered over her. Watched her with disdain. Like the dirt on his shoe.

"I didn't d-do anything w-wrong." she cried.

"You were snooping when we got here, you've asked too many personal questions, and you knew things that I don't think you deduced. I don't think you're intelligent enough." he said. So that's what that was. None of it was because he liked her or thought she was helpful. No, Sherlock Holmes was too smart to be impressed by anyone else. Heck, he didn't even believe her. Maybe thought she was some kind of criminal.

"Sherlock!" John shouted as the girl began to cry, but the consulting detective just watched her impassively.

"It's not- I-it's not l-like tha-at. I d-didn't i- I d-don't-" she couldn't even form the sentence.

"Tell me!" he shouted.

"You're my father," she screeched, pulling the photo of him and her mother out of her jeans pocket and slamming it on the table before running out of the flat in tears.


	4. Chapter 4: Feeling So Small

Sibley felt so stupid. As she moved through the rain, make it easier to cry without getting caught, and feeling like she was the main character in a cliché movie, she really hated herself. First off, she should have known that the Sherlock Holmes didn't find her intelligent and didn't take interest in her. Second off, she shouldn't have expected him to be caring, to love her. Third off, she had been so terribly dramatic. Of course, Sherlock was being a jerk and dramatic as well, she had really taken things out of proportion. After her episode of constant stuttering and inability to speak, she had just screamed and stormed out like a child throwing a tantrum or a dramatic girlfriend. Yeah, she wasn't exactly her biggest fan right now and it didn't help that she had no money for a cab so the dreary rain soaked and flattened her dark, curly, locks, only making her more irritated and upset.

"Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You foolish girl." she chastised herself. The crying was only getting worse, as was the a he in her chest, so she rounded a corner and slid down the side of some Italian restaurants wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees and allowed herself to shake and sob, an action she typically refused to do, no matter how upset she was. She hated feeling weak. Feeling childish. She may have been considered a minor, but she truly wasn't a child. She had grown up quickly, dealt with adult issues like bills and work and taxes. Yet here she was feeling so small.

The sound of car tires slicing through water startled her, causing her to look over. There was a large black van sitting on the street next to where she was. She stood up, prepared to run if need be, as a man in a suit stepped out and opened the door, gesturing her inside. She looked at him with raised eyebrows, shaking her head.

"Miss Lawrence," a posh voice came from the car, she tilted her head to peak in and find another man in a suit sitting there, "I suggest you get in on your own merits, or my friends here will have force you," he said, voice impassive. She scanned over the man standing. He was certainly armed and certainly trained. She gulped and stepped forward.

John took half a second to decide which issue to address first as his shell-shocked flat mate picked up the photo. Whether or not this girl was truly his daughter didn't matter yet, what mattered is his manners that had clearly frightened the poor girl out of her wits. He turned and angry, threatening, glare on the consulting detective.

"Sherlock, what is wrong with you? That girl did nothing to deserve that treatment," he snapped.

"She was hiding something, I needed to know what," Sherlock said, voice lacking any remorse as he stared down at the photo. Sure enough it was one of the last photos he had taken with Bre Lawrence. A beautiful, kind woman, whom he found himself falling for. She was a genius. Not nearly as smart as the Holmes' but smarter than the rest of the normal people. She had sharp wit and the ability to get whatever she wanted from whomever she wanted and oh, how he had loved her. He did not want to love her. He really didn't. However, it didn't matter how many times he had repeated 'caring is not an advantage' to himself. He couldn't let her go. Then they took their intimacy to the next level and that was enough to terrify him. She was becoming so attached and he felt himself become attached and, in an effort to keep himself right, he packed his things and ran. It seemed he was wrong in thinking the past would never catch up to him.

"Is she really your daughter?" John asked, still irritated but more curious.

"I believe so... Come on." he ordered, standing and rushing to the door, already pulling on that dramatic coat of his.

"Where are we going?" John asked, following him out of the flat and into the rain.

"To see an old flame."

Sibley watched the man next to her warily. Trying to deduce what she could. He clearly held an important role in the government, but most normal people could figure that out. He pretended not to notice her staring, which she appreciated, clearly he didn't care about her watching him. He didn't look all that threatening, but he didn't look like a puppy dog either. She wasn't in the best mind set at the moment, being distracted by how cold she was. The man seemed to notice her discomfort.

"Turn the heat up, the poor child is shaking," he ordered to the front. Almost instantly, the warm car got warmer. She looked over at him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Patience, dear," he said. She rolled her eyes but leaned back in her seat, deciding that if she was about to be torched and killed, she might as well enjoy her last few moments.

They arrived at a very nice looking home. It was large and beautiful and definitely cost a lot of money. No normal person lived in places like this. No, this was almost like a miniature palace. She startled when the doors on either side were opened and she hesitantly climbed out.

"No need to be so antsy I have no intentions of harming you," the man said, holding his open umbrella above them to keep the already wet girl from getting even worse. He led her into the house and a man approached them with a blanket. After a moment of staring from the two men to the blanket, her cold got the better of her and she took it, wrapping it around her body.

The man led her into what seemed to be the den and gestured to the couch. She sat down and looked up at him. He smiled at her.

"Miss Sibley Kyna Lawrence, daughter to Breanna Lawrence. Grew up in London has worked in many different places, dropped out of school last year, and now takes care of the household and her mother. Supposedly the daughter of Sherlock Holmes." he said.

"How do you kn-know that?" she asked, fear starting to creep in.

"Well, if your allegations are correct, I'm your uncle," he said, now sitting in the arm chair across from the sofa. She blinked. What? The same man that brought her a blanket came out with tea and biscuits, setting them down on a table in the middle of the sofas before leaving again.

"Tea?" the mysterious, unnamed, apparent Holmes, asked.

"No thank you. Don't want to be poisoned," she muttered. He smiled with amusement at her.

"Of course, caution is always wise." he said.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked, feeling herself relax a bit.

"Mycroft Holmes," he said.

"And what did you want with me?" she asked.

"Well, dear, let's talk about your mother."

Sherlock banged on the door until it finally swung open, revealing his ex lover. Sherlock didn't recognize her at first. Her once bright eyes were now dull and sad, her hair was streaked with too much grey for her age, and she was clearly drunk. He looked past her to see the messy flat, covered in glass bottles and trash. Even from where he was standing, he could smell the stench of smoke and alcohol.

"What are you doing here?" she bit angrily "She's mine you can't have her! Go away!" the drunk woman began to pound on his chest and he grabbed her wrists stopping her. She stared at him with bloodshot, dark eyes. He just shoved her in, too angry to care about her at the moment and quickly spun around, taking I never inch of the place.

"Sherlock," John said, looking around the place in concern for the young girl he had already begun to like.

"I know, John..." he turned back to the mother of his child, who was watching him, leaning on the wall. After a moment of watching her, he shook his head, and stormed right back out, John following.

"Sherlock, you aren't going to let her keep living there, are you?" John asked.

"Of course not."

"What about her?" Sibley asked, narrowing her eyes. Her mother was a sore subject she didn't typically speak about. This stranger, uncle or not, didn't have any right to pry into her personal life.

"She's fallen into some bad habits, hasn't she? How long has she been unemployed?" Mycroft asked.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," she snapped.

"You don't have to tell me, dear, I can easily find out myself." he said.

"What does it even matter?!" she asked.

"Your mother is incompetent of raising a child you should not be in that environment. You should be raised by someone capable." Mycroft said. She stood abruptly.

"You don't get to make that decision. I'm not going into any system. I can take care of myself." she barked, any nervousness she had replaced with rage.

"No one said anything about the system, please quit with the dramatics." he said.

"Says Mr. Get in the big black car or my friend here will beat you up." she said, crossing her arms.

"Fair enough." he stated.

"I'm staying with my mother," she said. It wasn't that she cared for her mother that much or enjoyed being around her, but she didn't want to go into the system. She didn't want to have to be forced to rely on and obey someone else, she had been taking care of herself for so long, she was fine.

"Well, it seems to me it's a bit too late for that. My brother has taken care of that already." she didn't know when he had brought his phone out, but he was looking at it now.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"It means, Miss Lawrence, that social services and the police are already looking for you."


	5. Chapter 5: Fairytale in Her Mind

At times like this, Sibley hated silence. It was a cliché, but at times like this, silence was louder than the London traffic outside of the cab. Silence was louder than Sherlock Holmes irritating breathing. Silence was loud. She tried to focus on anything other than the man next to her. Anything other than the thought of her mother and the new turn of events. She watched the cars pass by like shooting stars. Imagined who might be in them. Families, with a mum and a dad and siblings who bicker but never let anyone else mess with the other. Imagined them going by a daily schedule. Back home to have a quiet family dinner. To tell stories and have bed time.

That story, the fairytale in her mind, was far different than the situation at hand. Sure, she was going home with her father, but this was far different. They would get there and finally have a conversation at one point or another, John would probably shake his head at Sherlock and be the welcoming one, then she would go to bed without being told goodnight and wondering why she was there in the first place. Why the man who had been yelling at her several hours earlier and being a complete pick was now taking her into his home.

She thought back to the scene they had just been at. Cops crawling around the place, looking for all of her mothers drugs. Sherlock and Greg waiting for her. They explained that her mother had been arrested and upon further investigation and realizing Sibley had been the caretaker in the house for years, decided she was unfit to be the guardian even after she got out of prison. Then they told her she'd be moving in with Sherlock, he'd be fostering her until he was approved for adoption. She didn't want this. She didn't need to be taken care of. Especially not by Sherlock. He hadn't told anyone why he was taking her in and she kept her mouth shut as well. Why he was taking her in when he clearly didn't want anything to do with her, she wasn't sure.

The cab pulled up outside of Baker Street and Sherlock instantly climbed out. She just stared up at it. She would be entering it as an official resident now. With this intriguing, infuriating, prideful, man. She didn't want too. Before she had wanted nothing more, but now? She couldn't bring herself to move. Sherlock turned upon realizing Sibley was not behind him and he sighed, irritated, walking back to the cab.

"Do take your time," he snipped. She blinked and looked over at him.

"If you have such a problem with me, let this cabbie take me back home," she insisted. He let out another frustrated huff.

"It's a bit too late for that, isn't it? Come on," he ordered. She grumbled to herself as she pushed her way out of the cab and stormed up to the flat, throwing the door open without bothering to knock and stomping upstairs. Yes she had raised herself. Yes she could be incredibly professional and act like a little adult, but she could also act like a child, and right now, she had no problem with that. Maybe he'd get tired of her and kick her out if she acted up enough.

"Oh, hello Sibley," John gave her a sympathetic smile, knowing he situation as he had made Sherlock keep him updated.

"Where am I staying?" she asked tiredly.

"Oh, yes, I'd imagine you'd like to rest, come on, I'll show you." he moved to show her another room just as Sherlock finally got up the stairs. She rolled her eyes and walked into the small room slamming the door behind her.

She wasn't sure why she was so annoyed. This had been what she wanted originally. When she first found the picture of Sherlock she imagined moving in with him so she could continue school and eventually go to college. Now she was just pissed. He wasn't what she wanted. This wasn't what she wanted.

John turned to his friend after the moody teenager had disappeared. He was surprised. She was so sweet and mature he had forgotten her age while they had worked together. Just then, though, there was no doubt in his mind she was a teenager. He imagined she didn't often let herself act like that, so his initial assumption was Sherlock had done something.

"What did you do this time?" he hissed.

"Nothing!" he insisted, falling into his chair, annoyed.

"Clearly you did something," he said.

"She doest want to live here, John. She doesn't want to live with me," he said.

"Well did you apologize for earlier?" he asked. Sherlock looked at him, appalled.

"Well, she was hiding something, wasn't she? I was right," he said. John leaned his head back and groaned.

"Sherlock, she's the one who didn't do anything wrong. You treated her terribly and you need to apologize." John insisted, wagging his finger at him. Sherlock made a noise of an agitated child not getting their way and fell onto his chair, pouting.

"No," John said, pointing "no, Sherlock, you cannot do this. Not with her." he said. Sherlock just pulled the violin out of its case and began to rosin the bow. John through up his arms in exaggeration and walked upstairs to the young girls room. He knocked on the door and after a muffled 'come in' he opened it and walked in. Sibley sat with her legs crossed on the white comforter on the once guest bed. She was staring down at a novel, but clearly hadn't been paying it any attention.

"Sorry about him, he's a bit of prick. Are you hungry?" he asked. She sighed, closing the book without bothering to mark her place and looked up at him.

"Don't apologize for him, he's not your responsibility. As for food, I'm famished." she replied. Here was the adult in her he had worked with. Though, this version was a bit more cold, too much emotion had made her close herself off. This was certainly a Sherlock move.

"Right, I think I'll order some take out then, any requests?" he asked.

"Anything will do," she answered. He gave her a nod, lips pressed together awkwardly, and walked out of the room again.

When Sibley came out of her room that morning, the other two residents of 221B were already awake. Sherlock was at a desk, looking at a computer screen, John was sipping his tea as he read the paper. He looked up upon seeing her and frowned. Her flannel pajama bottoms sat a few inches above her ankle, her t-shirt on the other hand was swallowing her tiny frame, a large coffee colored stain was painfully visible in the bottom corner.

She didn't seem to notice John watching her as she plopped down onto the sofa and opened the novel that had been in her hand. John cleared his throat and she peered up at him over the pages.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked her. She shook her head and looked back down at the book. She didn't have work today as Lestrade ordered her to take time off and had now lessened her hours so she could focus on schooling. She wasn't pleased.

"I've found you a school," Sherlock said, not looking up from the computer.

"Great," she replied, monotone.

"You'll need new clothes. Sherlock, maybe you should take her shopping later," John coaxed his friend. Sherlock looked over at him in annoyance but he only gestured to the oblivious girl still emerged in her book on the couch. Sherlock took in her appearance rather quickly and heaved a frustrated sigh before closing his laptop.

"Go get dressed, Sibley," he ordered. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why?"

"Why do you think? I'm taking you shopping, go." he said. She scowled at the command, snapping her book shut and moving up the stairs. She really didn't like being told what to do.

While she was changing in her room Sherlock's mobile began to ring. He held it to his ear and briefly spoke with Lestrade before hanging up.

"We have a case, John," he said as Sibley re-emerged in another stained t-shirt and tight jeans.

"I thought you were taking Sibley shopping," there was a hint of warning in his partners tone. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet tossing it at her. Her eyes widened at the unexpected movement and she fumbled to catch it.

"I'm sure you can manage." he said. She held the bulky leather item in her small hands and looked at him in surprise, her moody teenager act dissipating for a moment as she nodded. She didn't shop for clothes ever. She wore her own old clothing, hand me downs from Molly, and other incredibly cheap, old, things. She couldn't afford the luxury of shopping for clothes. She wouldn't know where to start.

"Just tell the cabbie to take you to a clothing shop. There's plenty of money, you're fine," Sherlock said, understanding her confused face. He didn't give her a chance to respond before he pulled on his bellstaff and exited the flat. John gave her a small smile.

"He's right, though. There's enough money, treat yourself," it almost seemed to her like he was begging.

"O-okay," she said, and with that, he left.

"You okay?" a shop worker appeared next to Sibley, smiling with amusement. She had an Irish lilt in her voice.

"What? Uh, y-yeah, sorry," Sibley stuttered.

"No need to apologize, love, you just look a little lost. Need some help?" she asked.

"Dunno. To be honest I don't really know what I'm d-doing," she blushed, looking at her feet. The shop worker gave her a comforting smile, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. The badge on her shirt said her name was 'Amber'. Sibley scanned her body taking in some of her traits. Bottled blonde, her roots were brown, she clearly had money according to the brands of clothing, she didn't really need this job. It was a Tuesday so typically someone of her age would be in school, Sibley didn't think she was out because she needed to work. Her parents probably had money from intelligence, it must have passed down, she probably graduated early or was at least ahead and therefore taking online classes giving her time to work. The job she probably had due to her parents wanting her to have work ethic.

"Alright, I'll help you pick some stuff out, I'm Amber," her smile was bright. She may have had money, but she was kind.

"Sibley." she replied.

"So then, Sibley, why aren't you in school?" Amber asked, pulling out a dark purple blouse from the rack.

"Oh, uh, just moved," she said.

"Ah, yeah, I'm-"

"Taking online classes, you're ahead about a year... Oh I'm so sorry," Sibley was extremely flustered and uncomfortable, when she got like that, she couldn't control her mouth. To her surprise, Amber smiled slightly.

"Now, how'd you know that? You're not stalking me are you?" she teased. At this point she was holding about five different shirts.

"N-no. Your clothes say rich, don't need to take off school for work. You posture is a bit hunched, shows you spend a lot of time at a computer. Your nails are also well groomed and painted but not long like most people with money like to do, you need to keep them short to type." Sibley fired off deductions and then frowned, ready for Amber to shout at her and call her a freak.

"That's impressive!" her eyes were widened in excitement.

"R-really?" she asked.

"Yeah! That's so cool! Anyways, here, why don't you try these on," she shoved the shirts and pants into Sibley's arms and shuffled her into a dressing room. As Sibley was changing and looking at herself in the mirror, Amber spoke through the door.

"So you're new around here? Any friends?" she asked.

"Well, sort of, not really, I don't know." Sibley sighed.

"I get off in about fifteen minutes if you'd want me to take you to some more shops. Show you around." Amber suggested. Sibley froze. She had never really hung out with anyone her age. Even when she was in school, she didn't have many friends. She was bullied and ostracized.

"Um, sure, yeah."

"So your dad is the Sherlock Holmes?" Amber asked later as they sat at lunch.

"Uh, yeah," Sibley rolled her eyes, tossing a chip in her mouth. She and Amber had spent hours together and eventually, Sibley had pretty much told the girl her life story.

"Is her hard to get along with?" she asked.

"So far yeah, and I haven't even known him for that long." she said. Amber chuckled.

"I bet. I've read John Watson's blog. He sounds to be a bit eccentric." she said. This caused Sibley to laugh.

"Eccentric. Yeah. That's the word." she giggled. Amber grinned and Sibley found herself returning the smile. She hadn't enjoyed herself like this in a while and Amber was a nice girl who was her age. She couldn't remember the last time she had an actual friend.

"Well, listen, I need to go, I have to get some schoolwork done. I'll give you my number," she said, standing. Sibley blinked.

"Oh, uh, I don't have a phone," she said. Amber shrugged and began to write her number on a napkin.

"Well tell your dad to get you one, and text me," she said. Sibley nodded and waved, picking up her shopping bags and getting ready to leave herself.

When the cab arrived at 221B she trudged up the stairs and into her flat, dropping the two shopping bags on the floor. John and Sherlock looked up from the photos they were looking at.

"Is that all you got?" John asked, nodding to them.

"It's all I need," she replied. There were two pairs of jeans, three shirts, and a pair of converse she found on sale. John looked at Sherlock who only shrugged and went back to looking at the photos.

"What's this new case?" she asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, giving her a warning glare.

"What? I can't join?" she asked.

"No. You can't. I don't need a teenager holding me back." he said.

"That's not what you said for the last two!" she exclaimed.

"I was letting you in so that I could figure you out. That's its." Sherlock said.

"No. I did good. I was helpful!" she insisted.

"You barely scratched the surface with your deductions and I had beaten you to every realization you had. You're slow and unintelligent." he said.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. Her eyes were wide and she was taken aback. She clenched her jaw and turned to rush up the stairs and into her room.

She grabbed the pillow on her bed and buried her face into it. Her teeth were gritting against each other tighter and tighter as she willed herself not to cry. She didn't cry, she just didn't. She was practically and adult who dealt with a drug addict mother, worked jobs, paid bills. She dealt with a lot and it never made her cry so she was not going to let Sherlock Holmes get to her.

She was feeling herself begin to lose her breath, but she refused to do anything about it. She had to control her emotions first. She pushed the inferior feeling down. In her imagination she dragged Sherlock Holmes by the ear into a closet and shoved him in it. She began to collect all the drugs off the floor and throw them into another room among with the image of her mother in jail. She took every hurtful word and locked that away too. She swept any remaining emotion away and opened her eyes.

She pulled her head up from the pillow and took in a large gulp of air. She could feel color coming back to her face as she breathed. She was fine. She was fine.


	6. Chapter 6: Two Stubborn Gits

She felt like an idiot. The navy blue skirt was honestly too high, showing way to much of her legs, the black dress shoes were uncomfortable and bit it to her skin. The entire thing was terrible, she felt like an idiot. She growled at the mirror before turning and moving into the living room.

"Seriously? I feel stupid in this." she complained, crossing her arms. Sherlock peered up at her and smirked. The stupid tosser was finding this amusing. It made her want to bash his head in. She composed herself and grabbed her school bag.

"Can I have money for a cab?" she asked. He grabbed his wallet a pulled out a few pounds, waving them at her. She snatched them from him and stomped out the door. What a knob that man was. A week living with him and she already wanted to tear his head off. He was such a prat.

"Someone's in a good mood," Amber was leaning against the wall outside of 221B holding two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. Sibley had been borrowing John's phone to text her.

"Its Sherlock, he's being an arse again," she huffed, taking one of the cups from her.

"Come on, he can't be that bad." she said.

"He told me last night that there was no way I was making it to Cambridge because I was too daft," she seethed. Amber scoffed.

"The little wanker..." she muttered, causing Sibley to chuckle and shake her head.

"Now I have to go to this stupid school in this stupid uniform for a man who thinks I myself am stupid. I also have to take year ten classes since I'm behind. This entire thing is a mess." she huffed, hailing a cab.

"It's only a year behind, I'm sure you can catch up if you wanted. Maybe you'll like it, maybe you'll make a friend," Amber offered.

"Amber, you're the only friend I've had since I was six, it's not that easy for me," Sibley sighed as they climbed into the cab and she directed the cabbie.

"Oh, come on, you're great, who wouldn't want to be your friend?"

"Sherlock Holmes." she replied.

"Sib, it's not going to help if you spend the whole day thinking about how angry you are with him. Just get through the day. If I let everything my dad said ruin my day, I'd never have a good day," Amber said.

She nodded, sighing as they pulled up to the school.

"Thanks for accompanying me. Wish me luck," she said.

"Good luck, I'll see you tonight?" she asked. Sibley nodded, paid the cabbie and exited the cab. Here goes nothing.

Sibley walked into her flat, dropped her bag, and slid onto the floor. The men she lived with looked up at her exhausted form. Her skirt and hair were askew from the wind, her shirt was now coming untucked, and her eyes were now closed.

"I just had the worst day of my life. First I had to to sit around a bunch of fifteen year olds who don't know anything. Second I had to deal with obnoxious teenagers and their idiotic pestering. Lastly I just ran from a man who felt like it was okay to run his hands up this stupid skirt. It's hard to run in this stupid skirt. He tried to get me in his car. He wouldn't leave me alone." she rambled, not bothering to open her eyes.

"What?!" John stood angrily. Now her eyelids fluttered opened as she stared at the angry man.

"Yeah, not sure where I lost him, but he's gone now." she said.

"We'll have Mycroft look at the cameras, we'll find him." John said. Sherlock's face was blank as he watched them. His phone beeped and he looked down at it before standing.

"No need, he already caught him." he said, walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked him.

"Out." the door closed behind him and the two left looked at each other.

"Whatever. Of course he doesn't care." she sighed standing up and walking back into her room.

John stood alone and sighed, shaking his head. Sherlock Holmes really needed to get his act together.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock insisted as his older brother continued to shake his head.

"No, brother, I'm not letting you indulge in some fight based off of emotions. He's just another predator and he's off the streets," Mycroft said, the picture of calm. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to pin the man that tried to take his daughter to the floor and make him bleed, but Mycroft was being annoyingly stubborn.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure you'd care. You haven't been the best of father figures, have you?" Mycroft asked.

"You're the one who says sentiment is a weakness," he grimaced.

"You have a responsibility to her, Sherlock," Mycroft replied.

"I'm not discussing how to raise my child with you. Goodbye, brother mine." with that Sherlock angrily stormed out.

Emotion had never been Sherlock's forte and he had been dealing with more than his fair share of it lately. Seeing Bre again, finding out he had a daughter, it was too much for the normally logical man. He passed Baker Street and continued to walk, lost in thought.

Sibley paced in front of her mirror, scissors in her hands. Sometimes she did this. She became spontaneous, would feel a lack of control, and decide to change something. Do something she did have control over. Not the mention this would help with originality in the whole uniform situation. She glanced at the blue box on her dresser, then to the scissors, then to the mirror, and smirked. She raised the silver appliance to her hair right above her shoulders and began to snip.

Two hours later, her hair was cut right above her shoulders and dyed blue. She loved the new look. Grinning as she grabbed locks of her hair and ran her small fingers through it. The curls were still refusing to calm, but that was fine, she was good at taking care of her hair. She heard John calling her, probably for dinner, and went downstairs.

Sherlock and John were talking quietly and didn't notice her at first. She grabbed a plate and began to pile food on it.

"Sibley?" John was looking at her with surprise, as was Sherlock.

"Yeah, the old cut was getting boring. Stop staring." she said, plopping down at a chair and pushing her father's experiments back to give her room. Sibley had become much more snarky and open with the two lately. Her original stuttering was almost non-existent around them, mainly, she was just angry with Sherlock all the time. Not that anyone could blame her, the man was insufferable.

"Your school won't like it," John said.

"Then maybe they'll kick me out and I won't have to deal with it anymore," she replied. He rolled his eyes and looked over to Sherlock, who said nothing. Right. He had two stubborn gits to live with now.

"We'll see."


	7. Chapter 7: Sober

Sibley had never really gotten along with kids her age. She was different, smarter, unique. That being said, it was no surprise the other adolescents she went to school with didn't like her. In the weeks she began going there, they had taken to bullying. Freak was a popular name she was used to being called and it didn't hurt, it was just annoying at this point. Couldn't they at least think of something clever?

In any case, she dealt with it, she didn't care. There was a group of specific boys, year 12s, who were always on her case. Getting close, flirting while also insulting. It was clear she was just a joke to them. Something to be used. She spent many days trying to shove her way through them as they would try and touch her and tease her. God, she hated High School.

She opened up her locker, trying to quickly put away her things and grab what she needed for home when someone came up behind her as she slammed it shut. She turned to see him right up in her space. Charlie Travis.

"Hey, bitch," he smirked.

"W-w-what do you w-want?" she stuttered, trying to shrink back into her locker.

"I wanted to see what it's like to be with a freak. I'm sure you have some interesting moves," he said, moving his hand up her bare arm. She tried to move away from him but now his friends were all there too.

"L-leave me alone," she said. She was now surrounded by guys, nowhere to move.

"Come on, baby, don't be like that," another guy grabbed at her breasts. She swatted him away. She didn't like it. She didn't like being touched like that by them.

"P-please, I n-need to go home," she begged.

"You can go home with me," another guy grabbed and pulled a lock of her hair. They all laughed allowed her to push her way through, hot tears pouring down her cheeks as she ran across the school yard and quickly hailed a cab.

She ran into St. Barts down to the morgue where Molly was working alone. She looked up upon hearing the teenager enter and frowned when she saw her. Sibley's clothes and hair were awry from the struggle and she was still shaking and crying. Molly stood instantly and ran over to envelop her in a hug. She comforted her and allowed her to calm down before she explained everything.

"You need to tell your dad, Sibley. It needs to stop." Molly insisted when she was done talking.

"N-no, he doesn't c-c-care, it's fine, I -I can handle it." she said. Molly frowned, but Sibley was stubborn and she knew there was no point in trying to argue with her, still Molly was concerned.

"Alright, let's take a cab back to Baker Street," she said. Sibley waved her off and began to compose herself, taking the image of a group of boys pushing her around and shoving it into a closet in her mind.

"I'm fine. I can take a cab on my own. Thank you." her voice was formal and lacked emotion. Once again, Molly was reminded of Sherlock and wondered why she didn't see the resemblance sooner. She watched as Sibley grabbed her bag and turned, walking out of the morgue.

"You sure you're okay? You've been acting weird lately." Amber said as they stood in the shelves of books at the bookstore. Now that she didn't have to pay bills and such, the money from her job at the station went towards things she actually wanted.

"I'm fine, it's just the kids at school. They've been getting on my nerves," she said. Amber frowned.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could do something," she said. Sibley just shook her head.

"Don't worry about it. I can handle myself." she replied, "Besides, they're right,"

"About what?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"I'm a freak and a weirdo. Don't know why anyone would even want to be around me," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Hey," Amber put a hand on Sibley's shoulder and she looked up, blue eyes meeting brown, "don't say that, you're amazing," her voice was soft. Sibley blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Thanks," she whispered. Amber nodded and dropped her hand.

"So, have you read the Harry Potter series?"

When Sibley finally got home that night, the flat was empty. She walked over to the fridge and looked around all of the body parts. Nothing. She gripped the handle with white knuckles, this scene was a familiar one. She closed it again and shook her head. No, they were just behind on shopping, it was fine. Honestly, maybe her mother was the source of all her problems. The reason she was the way she was, thought the way she thought.

She slammed the fridge door, grabbed her bag, and pulled on a coat. She rushed down the stairs and to the busy streets of London. The cold air tousled her short hair as she weaved through crowds of people and to her destination.

Sibley arrived and went through the required process before being led to a room lined with chairs and windows. She sat on one and waited for her mother to be dragged out.

Bre Lawrence had dark bags under eyes, her grey speckled blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, but her eyes were clear. She was sober.

"Sibley," she said, a slight rasp to her voice after all of the cigarettes.

"Mum... How's prison?" she asked.

"Rough. Apparently buying and selling illegal drugs is enough to be in here for a while," she said.

"I haven't seen you sober in awhile." Sibley sighed, scanning her mother. Bre frowned and looked down.

"I know." she said.

"I'm living with Sherlock now," she said.

"I figured. I never wanted you with him. He's not a good man, Sib." she said.

"So far he's better than you." she said.

"When I knew Sherlock, he was going all sorts of drugs too. On top of that he was an arrogant prick obsessed with murder." Bre's normal hostile tone was now back as she spoke of her ex lover.

"Yeah, he's pretty much the same now. Though, I haven't seen any drugs with him, same can't be said for you, so you really have no reason to talk," she scowled.

"Why are you here Sibley? Come to rub this in my face?" her mother spat.

"I came to see if you were still my mother when the drugs and alcohol was gone but I think she's long gone." she replied.

"Good. I never wanted to be your mother anyways," the woman growled. Sibley slammed the phone where it belonged and walked away, leaving her mother to stare after her. It was a bad idea, but she had to see. Had to know. Now she did, her mother was always going to be a bitter old woman, and Sherlock had been a drug addict. Suspicions confirmed.

Sibley was in a bad mood. Sibley had been in a bad mood a lot lately. As she slammed her locker shut and turned she wasn't surprised, or happy, to see the normal group of guys standing there, waiting. She tried to go around them, to get away, she really didn't want to deal with them at the time, but they wouldn't leave. She walked outside and they all followed her.

"Leave me the hell alone you creeps," she snapped, to angry to be nervous.

"Excuse me, bitch? Don't talk to us like that," Charlie shoved her against the brick wall. She groaned as she hit her head.

"I'm tired of waiting, Charlie, it's Friday now, let's just take her." one of the minions said.

"Wanna go for a ride, sweetheart?" Charlie asked her, shoving her again.

"N-no." she stuttered.

"Come on, you'd be lucky to have us, babe," another said.

"Leave m-me alone. I don't l-like you," she insisted. Charlie drew back and socked her in the face.

"Shut up. We'll tell you when you can speak, bitch," he spat before punching her again. She stumbled back and fell onto the ground.

"Come on, we'll have fun tonight," another said, kicking her. They all joined in, punching and kicking. She heard someone shouting and felt all of the boys begin to run away right as she blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8: Content

**Response to reviews at the** **end 3**

Sherlock was on his computer when his phone began to ring next to him.

"John, phone," he said, staring intently at the computer.

"It's right next to you, Sherlock," John grumbled.

"I'm busy," he said. John huffed and got up to answer it.

"Hello?" he asked, irritated.

"Hello, is this Mr. Holmes?" a woman asked on the other side.

"Er, no this is his flat mate," John replied.

"Could you put him on the phone? It's about his daughter, Sibley, there's been an issue," she said. John turned to his friend, concern gripping his insides for the youngest Holmes.

"Sherlock, it's about Sibley," he said. Sherlock looked up at him and slowly held his hand out for the phone.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered.

"Mr. Holmes, this is Anna Johnson the headmaster of your daughter's highschool. It appears she was cornered by a group of other students today and attacked. I can assure you they have all been expelled, but Sibley has been hurt rather badly. She's in Barts Hospital at the moment," she explained. Sherlock had a white knuckle grip on the mobile.

"How bad is it?" he asked, to most people, they wouldn't hear the fear in his voice, but John did.

"It's really best if you could get down here so the doctor could explain it," the woman said. Sherlock swallowed.

"We will be there in ten minutes." he hung up and stood, John nodded, and the two of them went to catch a cab.

"Where is Sibley Lawrence?" Sherlock asked the moment they got in the hospital. The front desk worker quickly spouted off a room number and the man turned again, desperate to get to his daughter.

"Mr. Holmes?" a doctor asked right as they arrived. He had clearly just come from the room Sibley was being kept in. Sherlock composed himself, straightening up and hardening is expression.

"Yes. What is her condition?" he asked, the picture of calm.

"Well, a few broken ribs, a black eye, fractured left collarbone, a severe concussion, and many, many, cuts, scrapes, and other bruises. When she's up and moving again we'll put her in a sling to support her left collar bone, we've stitched up the worst of the cuts, I'll have a nurse explain how to properly take care of them later as well as her other injuries. Miss Lawrence is asleep at the moment but you're free to go in whenever." the Doctor explained. Sherlock didn't waste any time on manners, just turned and walked into the room. John shot him a quick smile and thank you before following his partner.

Sherlock stared down at his daughter. Her right eye was swollen and purple, blue hair surrounded her head like a pastel halo, her breathing was irregular, she was obviously having trouble, probably due to the fractured ribs. Her visible skin was littered in bruised layered over, you couldn't see where they stopped and ended. John shook his head as he stared down at her. Who would do something like that?

"Why do you think this happened?" he asked.

"Why do you think, John? They were bullies who had nothing better to do." Sherlock bit before storming out of the room. John frowned, looking back down at the young, injured, girl, and decided to let her rest.

Mycroft Holmes was referred to as the iceman for a reason. He had a cold exterior and cared for very, very, few. However, those he did care for, he protected with everything he had, even if his ways were a bit unorthodox. He didn't know Sibley very well- personally, anyways, the moment he found out he had a niece he of course gathered Intel and information on her- but he cared for her. She was his only niece, a young, impressionable, girl and he'd be damned if he let anyone get to her. The idea that these idiotic teenagers had done what they had done, infuriated him.

Anthea was a gem. She gave him no questioning or doubtful looks when asked to help with this specific task. Now she stood next to him staring down at six 17 and 18 year olds boys with a smirk on her face. Mycroft Holmes, however rare, could be impulsive at times.

"You can't do this!" Charlie shouted, wiggling in his binds, a terrified glint in his eyes.

"Oh, Charles, I most certainly can. Now, can you tell me why you're here?" he asked.

"I don't know, man, I didn't do anything," he insisted.

"Oh but you did, you see, that girl you decided to outnumber and corner today at school happens to be under the protection of some very important, vengeful, people." Mycroft gave the boy an evil grin.

"Yes, brother mine, she most certainly is," Sherlock Holmes burst in and stormed into the room.

"Took you long enough," Mycroft snarked.

"You mean Sibley? That little skank?" another one of the boys asked. Sherlock walked over to him and socked him in the face, holding his chair down so that he didn't fall back.

"Now, now, brother, don't be so rash, we're just going to chat with them." Mycroft scolded.

"I'll do what I want," Sherlock said, rolling up the sleeves to his dress shirt.

"Look, man, we didn't mean to stir up any trouble," another boy said.

"Well you did, by messing with the wrong person. How shall we deal with this? Hm, perfectly good place down in Antarctica I think you boys would very much enjoy," Mycroft stated.

"You can't just send us away. What will our parents say?" Charlie asked.

"What they've already said. They're very proud that their sons were chosen to serve their country in this way." Mycroft said.

"Before we send them anywhere, brother, I need an hour." Sherlock insisted.

"Oh, you always did solve all of your issues with violence or drugs. Very well, I'll be back in one hour. Good day, boys." and with that a smirking Mycroft and Anthea exited the building.

Sibley let out a large groan. Her head was throbbing. She was hurting everywhere. Her eyes fluttered open against the harsh light. She shifted in the bed, only moaning in pain again.

"Careful," Sherlock was by her side in seconds, easing her back down into the bed.

"It hurts," she complained. Sherlock glanced at the morphine levels and considered bumping it up some. It would certainly help with the pain, but it was addictive for some people and Sibley had two drug addict parents. Then again, Sibley was stronger than the both of them combined. He decided the pale, agonized look on his daughters face was one he didn't want to see and he upped the levels a bit.

"I'm such a failure." she sighed, closing her eyes.

"What?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I shouldn't have been so weak. I should have been able to stop them or get away." she said. He sighed.

"They cornered you. There was nothing you could have done." Sherlock's voice was monotone, but the emotion was still clear. She just nodded and they sat in silence for several moments.

"How long?" he asked. She didn't have to ask what he meant.

"Since school started," she replied, not looking at him. Foolish. She felt so foolish.

Sherlock sighed. Weeks. Several weeks his daughter had been being bullied and he had no idea. He couldn't really make any excuses either, it wasn't like he just missed it, no, he hadn't been paying attention. He was a genius, had he been being an actual parent and spending time with her and talking to her, he would have seen it in an instant. The signs in those kinds of situations are always extremely visible, and he hadn't looked. She thought she was a failure, but in Sherlock's eyes, he was the one who failed.

"Have they hurt you every time?" he asked. She shook her head and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain bit into her neck.

"Uh, n-no. No. They've... Touched me before, silly little things, but, until now, they weren't physically violent," she explained. Sherlock clenched his fists. They touched her. They touched her. He should have asked for two hours instead. He stood up.

"Get some rest." with that, he turned and walked out the door.

Sherlock felt a stabbing pain in his stomach as he realized this was the first time he had ever heard Sibley full out laugh. It was the day after she told him more about the bullies and he was in the hallway, walking towards her room, and she began to laugh at something. He should have heard it at some point in the weeks of her living with him, but he hadn't. He pushed her door open to find a blonde girl sitting on Sibley's bed, the two of them laughing. Sibley didn't laugh long, as it hurt her ribs.

"S-stop it h-hurts," she was crying. Crying and laughing. Only, the tears clearly weren't just from laughing too hard, she really was in pain. Sherlock was by her side In an instant, moving up her morphine and trying to calm her down. She stopped finally and began to breathe.

"Sorry, love," the blonde teenager cringed, a guilty glint in her eyes.

"No, it's alright," Sibley shot her a friend a smile.

"Oh! Sherlock, this is Amber. Amber, this is Sherlock," she introduced.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes! Amber Brooke." the girl said, holding her hand out for him to shake. He took it slowly.

"How did you two meet?" Sherlock asked. He couldn't care less, but he was trying to be friendly, as John demanded he be when in the hospital.

"The shop she works in," Sibley explained, "I've been using John's phone to text her,"

"Why?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"Because I don't have my own," she moved to shrugged but stopped when she, again, began to hurt.

"Oh... Right..." Sherlock said. Amber giggled at him.

"Anyways, Sib, I brought you a hospital survival kit for the week." she held up a backpack and began to pull things out, "Harry Potter series because I know how Jk Rowling cheers you up, Sierra Demudler's two poetry books, a few magazines for when you need more light reading, mad libs, crosswords, and sudoku books. I was going to bring you some movies but then I remembered you have nothing to watch them on." she said. Sibley grinned.

"Aw, thanks Amber," she smiled.

"Any time," the blonde replied.

"You don't have a computer?" Sherlock cut in.

"Uh, no," Sibley said.

"What about your school work?"

"John." she answered.

"You've never asked me." he said. She smiled slightly.

"John's a bit more approachable." she said.

"Oh..."

Amber looked between the two for a moment before her phone pinged. She looked at the message and rolled her eyes.

"Well I gotta go, I have school work, my dad'll kill me if I get too far behind. See ya later," she smiled and waved at the two before leaving the two Holmes to sit in silence.

"Big scary uncle guy?" Sibley questioned drowsily as Mycroft entered her hospital room, swinging his umbrella at his side. Sherlock looked between the two.

"You know each other?" he asked before Mycroft could comment on her name for him.

"Yeah he threatened me into his car so he could ask questions about my mother the same day you called child services. He said he was my uncle." she explained. Sherlock turned a glare on his brother who only shrugged.

"Sadly, he wasn't lying. This is my brother," he told her. She just stared up at the man, looking as elegant as ever in his expensive, pristine, suit.

"I, uh, I like what you've done with your hair," Mycroft gave a forced smile, trying to be nice, Sherlock told him he could only visit if he promised not to be a jerk. She snorted.

"Thanks... God, are all the Holmes the same? Are my grandparents like this?" she asked, looking between the two.

"Like what?" the brothers asked in sync.

"Allergic to emotion. Uncle Mycroft, you looked like you were in so much pain just giving a compliment," she smirked, purposefully using the word 'uncle' to gauge a reaction.

"Yes, with your charming personality I wonder what you did to provoke such a nasty reaction from those boys," he said sarcastically. She blinked, offended. Did he basically just blame her for the incident? Did he think she caused this?

"Mycroft!" Sherlock and John snapped at the man, glaring him down. He sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"My apologies if I have offended you, Sibley. I came to see how you were doing." he said.

"It's fine, but you should probably look into lessons on tact. Anyways, I'm alright. They're still making me stay in this stupid hospital though, I hate hospitals." she complained.

"Yes, not many people are fond." he said.

"You'll be discharged soon. The doctors want your ribs to heal more before you can go," Sherlock said.

"Why can't I just heal at home?" she whined. It occurred to both her and Sherlock in that moment that it was the first time she had referred to their flat as home. He smiled slightly.

"Because you won't have the same medical equipment and doctors," Sherlock said.

"John's a doctor," she reminded him.

"Sibley." he warned. She rolled her eyes again. Mycroft watched the exchange in amusement. Sherlock. A dad. It was a weird thought but there he was, watching his brother parent an injured teenager.

"Well, I do hope you begin to get better, dear." he said. She smiled up at him, her blue eyes reminding him so much of his little brother.

"Thanks, 'Uncle'." she smirked. He couldn't help but smile back before turned to leave, swinging his umbrella next to him.

"Sherlock?" Sibley grabbed her father's attention later that day. He looked down at her.

"I- I've been needing to talk to you," she said, looking at her hands.

"Well spit it out," he said.

"I... I can't go back to that school. I- I know the boys were expelled but I just don't th-think I can go back. After every-"

"Sibley," he cut her off and she looked up at him, "I wasn't expecting you to go back. I thought you might enjoy online school better," he said. Her eyes lit up.

"But how? I don't even have a computer," she said. He reached into a bag he had brought with him and pulled out a slim white box with the image of a laptop on the front out and handed it to her. Next, he gave her a smaller one with a mobile on the front. She looked from the gifts to her father, surprised.

"Th-thank you." she said. He waved her off, rolling his eyes.

"They're basic necessities in this generation. You needed them." he said. She just smiled at him, ignoring the pain as she sat up and leaned forward to wrap her arms around him. He stiffened before gently, albeit awkwardly, hugging her back, careful not the hurt her, and then forced her to lay back down.

"You're going to hurt yourself." he said. She just continued to smile at him as she buried herself in the covers. He smiled at her as she closed her eyes. His daughter. His happy, content, daughter.

 **Bahall1964- I'm super glad you're enjoying this! I hope I'm giving a good first impression to the Sherlock Fanfiction world! Also, that is such an _amazing_ compliment! I'm currently reading the original Sherlock Holmes books and I love Arthur Conan Doyle and hid writing style so that makes me so happy!**

 **Guest- It really isn't but she is Sherlock's daughter after all XD. You're welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed!**

 **Nolifesoiread- thank you so much! Sherlock is such a hard character to write and get right so that means a lot!**

 **Deschperado- I'm so glad you like it! Thank you!**

 **Guest- I really appreciate it! Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9: Holmes

If Sibley thought this was going to be easy, she was wrong. This was the hardest thing she had ever done. She squinted down, tool poised in her fingers. She began to slowly moved her hand towards the table. Steady, steady. She was in, now she lifted her hand and-

Buzz

"Dang it! This game is impossible!" she shouted. Normally she would throw her arms up in the air, but she was still extremely sore despite being discharged from the hospital the night before, plus one of them was in a sling to support her broken collarbone.

"Nothing is impossible," Sherlock replied, easily taking the pliers from her and pulling out some fake body part in the operation man. She groaned.

"Is there anything besides socializing you're not good at?" she asked. He scoffed.

"No. Your turn." he said. The door opened and closed to reveal John with groceries in his arms. He set them down on the counter before turning and looking at the two.

"Ah, at least your no longer playing Cluedo, the two of you arguing was becoming very frustrating." he said.

"It's just stupid. Cluedo isn't real life, there are more rules and it's about elimination, not actual sleuthing. Therefore he can't have deduced the board and made a decision!" she exclaimed. Sherlock just rolled his eyes at her. She leaned back into the couch, closing her eyes.

"Feeling alright?" Sherlock asked, boxing up the game.

"Yeah, just hurting a bit." she admitted.

"When was the last time you took your pain meds?" John asked.

"Few hours ago." she replied. Sherlock stood and walked to the kitchen to retrieve the little pill bottle and got her required meds out.

"You'll be sore for a few weeks but it shouldn't be as bad in the next couple of days," John told her. She nodded, taking the white pills from her father and swallowing them dry. She went to stand but Sherlock forced her back down.

"You need to rest," he said. She sighed in frustration.

"I've had enough rest. I'm tired of resting. It's not like I got shot, it was just a fight, it's not like I almost died." she whined.

"You need to wait until you've completely healed and those boys did almost kill you. Had the teacher gotten there thirty seconds later, you could have been permanently injured, Sibley." Sherlock said.

"Are they in jail?" she asked.

"Antarctica, actually," Mycroft stood in the doorway and tossed something at her, she reached out and caught it. In her hands was a small stuffed bear with a red ribbon around his neck.

"Uncle Mycroft, did you buy me a stuffed bear? Is this a sign that you like me?" she asked. He rolled his eyes.

"You are family." he answered simply and Sibley knew that was as close as she'd get to him telling her he cared for her.

"So what did you mean Antarctica?" she asked.

"Well, there's a military base down there. It was decided that since they liked violence so much, they could put it to use."

"Decided by whom?" she asked, innocently. He smirked at her and she smiled back.

"That's classified." he replied.

"Well whoever it was, give them my gratitude." she said. He gave her a small nod. Sherlock's phone buzzed and he looked at the screen.

"Lestrade needs us, we have a case. Don't move, Sibley, if you need anything, yell for Mrs. Hudson," he said in a rush. Mycroft rolled his eyes at a brother but left himself.

Pretty soon the flat was empty again.

"How are you feeling?" Amber asked later as she sat in John's chair across from Sibley.

"Terrible. My body hates me and I still haven't had a shower as Sherlock doesn't want me standing for that long alone due to my concussion and there's no way I'm letting him help me," she grimaced. Amber giggled.

"Aw, I'm sorry, love. If it comes down to it I could always help you," she offered. Sibley was a bit surprised at the offer. Amber shrugged, sensing her thoughts.

"Don't make it weird, your hurt and need help to do something, I don't mind helping so you don't have to suffer from being dirty or have your father in which you've just met help you," she said with a shrug. Sibley smiled.

"I appreciate that... Maybe later," she suggested. Amber nodded and looked down at her hands.

"What?" Sibley asked.

"I just... I don't know what I would have done had they hurt you even worse," she stood and walked over to sit next to Sibley "I care a lot about you, Sib," she sighed. They were close now.

"I care about you too," she said quietly.

"Promise me you'll be more careful. I know your dad is a detective and all and does dangerous stuff, so you can't exactly get away from it, but... At least try? I can't lose you," she said. Sibley nodded, biting her bottom lip.

"I will." she whispered. They stared at each other, centimeters apart for several moments before the door to the flat burst open and the girls flew apart. Both men froze.

"Oh, uh..." John cleared his throat and held up a bag "we brought lunch." he said. The girls, red faced, nodded, reaching out and taking the bags.

"So, uh, how's the case going?" Sibley asked as they all sat around the small table in the living room.

"It's going well, very well," John said. The awkward tension in the room was high. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to talk about the case, blabbering about the things he had deduced at the crime scene and complaining about Anderson and Donovan. Soon the tension in the room had melted and they were all laughing at Sherlock and his animosity for the daft forensics worker and his lover.

"Checkmate! Take that, Holmes!" Sibley squealed later the next day. Sherlock and John had to be out for a while and Mrs. Hudson wasn't around so Sherlock insisted Mycroft come over in case Sibley needed anything. He still didn't want her moving around, the night before he had carried her to her room. She wasn't a China doll, and her legs were perfectly fine, but Sherlock didn't care. Her concussion was still very bad, she was still I'm a sling for her collar bone and she would be for a while, and she still had many stitches in.

"You're just like your father, you have to rub everything in," he said. She giggled.

"You're just upset you got owned by a teenager," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Don't be childish, dear," he said, putting the game away. She smirked at him, leaning back on the couch.

"So, is there a lady in the ice man's life or does your world revolve around spying on your little brother?" Sibley asked. Mycroft scoffed at her.

"My life does not revolve around Sherlock. In any case, no there is no lady," he said.

"Gentleman?" she asked. He gave her a look.

"No." he said. She laughed at him.

"You are so easy to mess with Uncle Myc," she said. He rolled his eyes at her and the ridiculous nickname she had given him.

"Don't call me that." he said.

"Fine then... Mikey... Uncle Mikey... Uncle Croft... Ooh! Uncroft!" she grinned. He shook his head on her.

"Do you insist on being so irritating?" he asked.

"As long as you keep reacting, yeah," she leaned forward and took the last biscuit off the plate in front of her.

"I think your medicine is making you a bit loopy," he said. She shrugged.

"Maybe," she shoved the last of the biscuit in her mouth and moved to lay down on the sofa.

"Wake me up when September ends," she muttered, closing her eyes. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows.

"It's January," he said.

"Oh nevermind... It's a Greenday reference- just- wake me up in an hour," she said. He nodded and watched as she drifted off into sleep. He allowed himself to smile slightly, shaking his head in amusement as his niece. Dang, he was already growing a soft spot for her.

"Sibley, let's, uh, let's talk," Sherlock said that night, sitting across from her.

Sibley wasn't an idiot and even an idiot could see what she was seeing, however unbelievable. Sherlock Holmes was nervous. He was struggling to find words. She wasn't sure if she should he afraid or amused, so she took to just being curious with a tilted head and a hard stare at him under furrowed eyebrows.

"So, uh, you've been officially adopted now..." he began. She nodded slowly, making no move to reply. "You're still, uh, you're still a Lawrence though and I was wondering... Mycroft could help if you wanted... To be a Holmes," he said. She blinked. She smiled.

"That's what you're so nervous about?! Of course I want too!" she exclaimed. He smiled, relieved.

"Okay, great... I'll go pick up some food." he then stood and zoomed out of the room. She giggled. How very out of character he had been. Honestly, the man was obviously capable of emotion, yet it terrified him. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"Sibley Kyna Holmes." she mused. Sounded perfect.


	10. Chapter 10: Die Here

The day she was kidnapped:

Sherlock didn't like the idea of Sibley going to the store alone while she was still healing, but she insisted she needed to get out and be alone. John also promised she'd be fine and he trusted John's word. He didn't know she'd be kidnapped.

He was playing the violin when his phone buzzed and he was too into the music to notice. It wasn't until an hour later when John came back from visiting his girlfriend that he finally stopped. John looked around a moment before asking where Sibley was, sure that his friend wouldn't allow her to still be out considering just convincing him to let her go to the store was hard. Sherlock instantly became alert.

"She hasn't come home yet," he said, calm. He was sure she just lost track of time as he often did. He grabbed his phone to call her but realized that she had sent him a text.

Cabbie

Son

Left by St. Barts hospital

Hurry.

"She was taken." he said. John looked at him in fear and concern.

"What?! By who?!" he exclaimed.

"Looks like her cabbie. She sent this when they were making a left by Barts Hospital." he said.

"Her cabbie kidnapped her? Sounds like a study in pink." John said. Sherlock looked at him.

"That must be what she meant by son! It's his kid! We need to talk to Lestrade," Sherlock was out the door in seconds, John struggling to keep up.

Sherlock hadn't completely realized the impact Sibley had on people until she got kidnapped. While sadly, there were other crimes to deal with and not everyone could pitch in, a good 80 percent of Scotland Yard insisted on helping find his daughter. His daughter who brought people coffee and helped them with paperwork and would always comfort them when she saw they had just had a rough case. Police that Sherlock had never even seen were pitching in. No one would be satisfied until she was found.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said around 2AM that night (or morning, depending on how you look at it), "Go home, eat some food, get some rest." he insisted.

"I don't need rest. I don't sleep." Sherlock snapped.

"Maybe not normally but right now your daughter needs you at your best. If I have to, I'll just kick you out." he said. Sherlock heaved a frustrated sigh and stormed away. If they wouldn't let him at the yard, he'd have to work at the flat.

Four days. Sibley had been missing for four days. Sherlock hadn't slept in four days. John had barely slept in four days. It was late, same thing that happened last time, Lestrade kicked Sherlock out. He found himself walking the streets of London, not knowing his destination, at least until he arrived there.

He was sure she would be sleeping at this time. Most normal people were, especially ones that had early hours, but something told him she was awake. He knocked on the door and didn't have to wait long before it swung open. She stood there, light brown hair frizzed, dark bags resting underneath her bloodshot eyes, she had been crying.

"Sherlock," she said, the normally joyful pathologist did not smile at him.

"Molly, hello. Can I, uh, can I come in?" he asked. She frowned, confused by his unusual behavior, but nonetheless made space for him to walk in.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock? I'm not doing any favors for you, not right now." she said.

"You've been crying, why?" he asked.

"Sibley." she answered. He raised an eyebrow.

"If you had ever bothered to get to know anyone, you'd know that I've known her since she was a baby. I'm worried." she snapped. She didn't want to deal with him. Not while Sibley was still gone, not while Molly's mind was full of horrible possibilities.

"Oh... Wh- ho- okay, tell me about her." he said. Molly looked at him surprised. He was showing interest in another human. Honestly, he should have known by then, but whatever. She turned and walked over to a table covered in picture frames, she handed one to him.

Sherlock stared down at photo in his hands. It showcased a considerably younger Molly Hooper, grinning and hugging what seemed to be a six year old. She was missing her two front teeth but her grin was still adorable. Bright, vivid blue eyes, stared at the camera, her hair was long, thick, dark, and curly. No doubt it was Sibley.

"She's a sweetie, still is. Can't stand the thought of someone being sad or upset. Always had to comfort people. Loves music and art, wants to be a detective. She's so much like you and yet so different from you." she sighed.

"How do you know her?" he asked.

"Her mum and I were friends at one point." she replied. "She used to come running to me every time her mother got drunk or high or both."

"You're close." it wasn't a question, it was a statement. Molly nodded.

"Yes. Sibley is very important to me. If anything happens to her, Sherlock…." she trailed off, her imagination taking her to the worst of places.

"I will find her." he stated with so much confidence she almost believed him, almost.

"She's a strong girl, Sherlock, but I'm worried." she sighed. He nodded and put the frame back in its original spot.

"I'm going to find her, Molly. I am." with that he turned around, sweeping his belstaff behind him, and rushing out the door.

It was weeks after the visit with Molly when Sherlock decided that the horrid cabbie made a mistake by sending Sherlock all of those pictures. One, it made him angrier and more determined by each one. Two, it gave away clues. Finally, finally, he found her. Police cars pulled up to the old building. It was once where minor TV shows were filmed for minor channel. They burst in and looked around. Sibley was passed out and tied to a chair on one of the sets. The cabbie and three other men were in the fake kitchen. He rushed over to them first and grabbed the man, shoving him against the wall. He laughed.

"'Ello Mr. 'Olmes, guess you found me." he said.

"She was never apart of any of this." Sherlock growled. The cabbie just chuckled.

"You killed my father, Sherlock 'Olmes. I 'ad to get even." he smirked. Sherlock punched him and let go, he unconsciously slid to the ground.

John finished untying Sibley. She slowly opened her eyes as he tried to help her up. She groaned loudly and everyone could hear her pain. Her face was covered in bruises and her nose and mouth were caked in blood. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn the day she left the flat.

Sherlock only watched as she was strapped onto a gurney and rolled out to an ambulance. This was his fault for getting attached. For becoming sentimental. If he hadn't gotten attached, he wouldn't have lost his head, wouldn't have taken so long to find her. She wouldn't be so hurt.

He slowly followed and climbed into the ambulance after her, sitting next to the bed. She had slipped back into unconsciousness again. All he did was watch as the paramedics and nurses checked her over and sit in his thoughts.

Sibley's eyes fluttered open and she realized she was in a hospital bed. She didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed that she was back there again, but she chose to be happy she was not only in a warm bed, but she was clean and in clean clothes.

Amber was the only person in the room. She stood abruptly and ran over. She had clearly been crying a lot.

"Sibley, oh my God, are you okay? I was so worried," she cried.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm okay." she whispered. Amber pushed a blonde strand of hair behind her ear and Sibley noticed a purple bruise on her chin.

"Amber, what happened?" she asked with a frown. Her eyes widened for a second before she shook her head.

"Nothing, I came home late last night and Dad was in one of his moods. He gave me a hundred dollars this morning to apologize." she said. Sibley rolled her eyes, Amber always insisted it was okay and she was fine, but she disagreed. She couldn't argue with her this time though, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to ignore her aching body.

"I'll get your dad," with that, Amber was gone.

The door opened pretty quickly after that and Sherlock walked in. She attempted to smile at him, but she was sure it came out more a grimace. She frowned at his expression. It was cold, lifeless as he stared down at her.

"Hey," she said.

"I told you you shouldn't have gone to the shop." he said.

"We couldn't have known that was going to happen." she said with a frown. Really? He hadn't seen her in over a month and she was hurt and this was what he was saying?

"Yes, well now, over a month has been wasted looking for you. If you had been intelligent you could have gotten yourself out." he snapped. She felt her eyes well up with tears as she remembered the cabbies words. He had said Sherlock didn't care.

"I-I'm sorry. I... I just wasn't strong enough to-to fight." she said. He shook his head.

"Of course you weren't. Just like with those boys." he said. She stared at him, terror and sorrow on her face.

"Stop crying, it's pointless," he growled, she tried to stop, but was unable too. He scoffed.

"I don't have time for this." and with that, he turned and walked out, leaving a devastated Sibley behind.

John and Sherlock were at 221B when Amber Brooke stormed in, full of rage. John raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if everyone had just gone crazy. Between Sherlock not spending every waking second at the hospital considering Sibley had only been found mere hours before and Sibley barely talking when he had visited, people were being weird. Now kind, respectful, Amber, had just walked into their house without knocking, and slapped Sherlock right across the face.

"What the hell is your problem?! Sibley has enough to worry about and enough insecurity without you coming round and calling her weak and stupid!" she exclaimed.

"Wait, what?" John asked, looking to Sherlock in hopes he hadn't actually said that. Sherlock sighed.

"I was only stating truth, she needs to quit being so sensitive." he said. Now it was John who punched him. Sherlock stumbled back and looked up at his friend in confusion. John was fuming.

"You said what to her? Sherlock Holmes, what is wrong with you?" he asked in anger.

"Nothing! Everything I told her was the truth and she needed to hear it, she's pathetic," he said. Before Amber could attack him, John did. Her eyes widened as John took him to the ground and shook her head. Sherlock Holmes. Biggest jerk alive. She did nothing to stop the fight and instead turned and walked out of the flat.


	11. Chapter 11: Considerably Younger

**Quick announcement! I screwed up and skipped a chapter! Luckily it was more of a filler so it all still made since, but Chapter 9: Holmes is the chapter I just added in if you want to go read it!**

It had been around one month since the fight happened and Sibley had been healing pretty well. Her father had finally let her start moving around on her own, which was good because she had been feeling herself go crazy. She walked slowly into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Lately most of her pain was just being sore from the healing process. She was still in a sling sadly, her collar bone probably was the worst of it.

"Morning, Sibley, how you feeling?" John asked, joining her in what she felt was more a makeshift lab than a kitchen.

"Okay," she answered lazily, "I need to get out of this stupid flat though. I'm going stir crazy." she sighed.

"Well, we do need some groceries, maybe you can convince your dad to let you go to the shop." he said.

"Maybe," she replied, finishing up the tea and pouring herself some.

"So how's Sara?" she asked, blowing at the steam over her mug.

"Janette." he corrected.

"Oh... Yeah... How is she?" she asked.

"Fine. She's fine." he replied.

Sherlock came out in flannel pajama bottoms and a bare chest. His hair was a mess atop his head, and he still looked half asleep. Sibley took this as proof that he actually slept. Any time she had ever come downstairs to get water or go to the loo at night, he was awake.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty," she teased, sipping on her tea. He rolled his eyes at her and made himself some tea.

"Ya know, you would wake up easier in the morning if you'd let your body have more sleep." Sibley pointed out.

"I don't need that much sleep. Sleep is a waste of time." he spat. She chuckled, continuing to sip on her tea. It was unusually quiet due to Sherlock's drowsiness and Sibley didn't like it. John and Sherlock were on cases so often that it was always quiet when she was home. When they were there, she loved the noise and craziness of the two men.

"So, we need groceries," Sibley commented.

"Okay." Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow, wondering what she wanted.

"Maybe I could go out and get them?" she questioned.

"You're still hurt," he said.

"But I'm perfectly capable," she insisted.

"Sherlock, she'll be fine. She needs to get out. I'm a Doctor, I know." he said.

"Fine. Just be careful." he said, pulling out his wallet and handing her his card. She nodded with a grin. As she stood up to go get dressed she planted a kiss on her father's cheek and rushed to her bedroom.

Sibley finished paying and grabbed the bags of groceries. A shop worker helped her, seeing as she only had one free arms and couldn't carry the rest, and helped her to her cab. She thanked him as she climbed in.

"You're 'olmes kid, right?" the cabbie asked. She squinted her eyebrows. Did the public find out? She sighed, assuming she was in all the papers now.

"Maybe, why?" she asked.

"Ya know, 'olmes witnessed my father die," the man said. Her heart began to speed up as warning lights flashed in her mind.

"O-oh, did he?" she asked, inching closer to the door of the cab.

"Yeah. Hadn't seen my father in some time, he left us money," the cabbie said.

"That's g-good." she said.

"Your father is the reason mine is dead. Think I should take something important from him too." the man growled. She moved to open the door but it was locked.

"Let me out." she said.

"Oh, don't be like that, we have plans ahead." he insisted. She pulled out her phone and began to type message to Sherlock.

Cabbie

Son

Left by St. Barts hospital

Hurry.

She typed it quickly before he looked in the rear view and saw her.

"Oh no dear." he reached back and took it from her, throwing it out the window. She began to cry.

"I didn't d-do anything, p-please just let me g-o," she begged.

"No can do, sweetheart, we've got things to do."

Sibley was thrust into a chair, hands tied behind her back, ankles tied together. She looked around instantly. She was in a flat, it was nice, newer. Whoever owned the flat obviously loved the color blue, blue couch, blue walls, blue curtains. It was an open plan so the kitchen was visible from where she sat. There were a few men talking in hushed tones with each other, one of which being the cabbie.

She tested her bindings. Plastic zip ties. She couldn't break out of those. This flat obviously belonged to a woman, it wasn't a man's design. There were holes where nails had been but the pictures were gone. There was not a single photo anywhere. She glanced at the fridge to see a list with things to do when feeding the pets. The residents were on vacation. One of the men must have been the pet sitter and thought this was a good place to hold Sibley captive. Why take down the pictures though? Maybe... She looked around some more… Oh...

"This whole place is fake." she said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her.

"'Scuse me?" the cabbie asked. She rolled her eyes.

"The paint is fresh, I can smell it, the couch is brand new, not a stain in sight, as are almost everything else here. The holes in the walls show that you originally planned to hang up photos to trick me, but decided they would probably just tip me off as it's easy to tell when something is a real family or just photos taken to sit in picture frames at the shop. You wanted me to believe the family is on vacation but you made the mistake of not giving any evidence at all of there being any animals, this is a tiny flat with no halls, the food bowls would probably be in the kitchen. Plus the names on the paper are Fluffy and Mr. Whiskers and no adult would name their pets that! There is also no evidence of children living here so it wouldn't have been them. So where are we then?" she asked. The men slowly began to laugh.

"Just like her father," one of them said.

"A know it all," said another.

"Oh shut up. What are you planning on doing? Killing me?" she asked.

"Not just yet. We have to make him squirm a little." the cabbie said, kneeling in front of her.

"Why? What's the point? So your dad died. You can't do anything to bring him back. Get over it." she snapped. He slapped her.

"Listen here, you little bitch, you're not in control here. I suggest you watch your mouth." he growled. She glared at him but he didn't seem to care as he stood up and walked back over to his friends.

"Get the equipment."

The taste of blood had always been scary for Sibley. Bleeding meant she wasn't invincible and growing up in the house she had, she needed to be invincible. It dripped into her mouth and down her neck, warm and sticky. Her nose was probably broken now, but that wasn't her main concern. She was worried about her stomach, if he hit hard enough to affect future conception. She worried about her swollen left eye and how long until she would be able to see clearly out of it again.

"How you feeling, sweetheart?" the cabbie asked. She spat a glob of dark red blood out.

"Great," she replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'm afraid you're gonna be sore for a little while longer, dear." he said. She began to cry again, shaking in fear and pain.

"P-please just leave me alone," she begged. The cabbie took a picture of her and began to type into his phone. She assumed he had sent it to Sherlock.

"He's gonna find me." she warned. He laughed at her.

"Oh, poor Sibley. Do you think he's going to put that much effort into coming for you? Do you really think he cares?" the cabbie asked.

"If he didn't then this entire thing would be pointless," she replied.

"Not pointless. I take you, send pictures that make Sherlock and his little boyfriend argue about you. Then I kill you, Watson gets angry, he moves out. Sherlock is then left all alone. No daughter, no John, and a disappointed landlady." he mused.

"You're wrong, he's looking for me," she insisted through her tears. He barked out an angry laugh.

"He's not. He barely even likes you. He thinks you're unintelligent and a waste of time," the man said.

"N-no he doesn't," she insisted.

"Oh, don't be so ignorant. We both know it's true. He's all but said it, hasn't he?" the man asked.

"How would y-you know?" she asked.

"CCTVs can be hacked, your uncle has quite a few of them." he said. She looked down at her lap and cried harder. She was becoming terrified.

"Don't cry, lovely, the truth hurts sometimes." he kneeled in front of her and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. He then stood and punched her in the face, "But so does this," he punched her again.

"See," he began as he pulled up his sleeves, "my father was a cabbie, I'm not, that was all fake. He and Sherlock played a little game and before you know it, boom. He was shot. Your father just watched." he growled.

"I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you want? I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"Oh, love, I know you are, but it's not your fault, it's your daddy's, and I'm gonna make him pay," he punched her again, causing her to black out.

One week and four days. It had been one week and four days and Sibley was at the point of wanting to die. She didn't have her pain meds, so her old injuries were killing her as were her new ones. She felt so weak and defeated. She wished she was strong enough to fight everyone off, but she wasn't.

She thought back to when she was a little girl, when everything was fine and normal and she was loved. Her mother used to randomly pick her up and carry her to the couch so they could cuddle. She always felt so safe, wrapped up in her mother's arms. Now she felt lost and alone.

Sherlock was a genius. An amazing detective who could solve murders in seconds. Mycroft was practically the British government, he could get anything he wanted. Clearly they just weren't looking. She wondered how long it would take before they finally killed her. Ended her misery.

"Morning sunshine!" the cabbie burst into the fake flat where she was still tied to the same chair, in the same clothes, sticky with the same blood. She had been given one cup of water every morning, but that was it.

"Water!" he exclaimed, holding the cup up to her lips and tilting it back. She gulped it quickly and excitedly. She was done within seconds.

"Aww, that was quick." he said, putting it on the table before slapping her. She whimpered.

"I'm hungry," she whispered.

"You could go for weeks without food," he said. Weeks. Was that how long he planned to keep her there?

"P-please," she begged. He grinned maniacally and bent down to her levels, pushing a strand of blue hair behind her ear.

"Oh, poor Sibley. The Holmes that resorts to begging." he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. His grip was tight.

"You're not worth the Holmes name." he let her go and stood, "Maybe I'm doing them a favor. Maybe that's the real reason they're not looking, they're happy you're gone." he snarled.

"No," her voice was hoarse and weak from lack of water and all the times they had taken to strangling her for fun. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd make it. She felt weak and stupid. If she had the strength and discipline her family did, she'd be fine, but she didn't. Maybe they were better off without her.

"I see it in your eyes, you know I'm right," he said. She just hung her head, letting the tears spill. She was going to die here.


	12. Chapter 12: Insufferable

Sibley had been spending too much time crying lately. She had been back home for two weeks and Sherlock was being insufferable. He and John were barely getting along because of Sherlock's cruelty and whenever he spoke to her, it was in insults. He was being just straight up mean and her already fragile ego couldn't take it. She was miserable.

She was alone, laptop on her lap as she was working on school work when Amber showed up. She frowned upon seeing Sibley, bloodshot, sad, eyes, anyone could see that the girl was suffering. Amber walked over, closed the computer, and moved it to the side. She put her arm gently around her friends shoulders and instantly, Sibley was crying into her chest.

"He's being so mean. I don't know what I did!" she sobbed. Amber sighed as she rubbed her friends back in comfort.

"I know, hun, I know," she said.

"Amber, I just don't understand," she sniffed, pulling back. Amber ran her fingers through Sibley's soft hair.

"People like Sherlock Holmes don't know how to have emotion. How to love and care. You didn't do anything wrong, love." she said softly.

"I just feel so worthless." she said. Her friend frowned and pulled away so that Sibley was looking into her eyes.

"You're not, Sib," she whispered.

"But I feel like it," she sighed. Amber reached forward to push a strand of hair back behind Sibley's ear.

"Listen to me. You are not worthless. You are smart and you are funny and you are beautiful and you are kind. I love you, John loves you, by the sounds of it, half of Scotland Yard loves you. You're not worthless, do you understand me?" she asked, voice gentle but stern. Sibley gave a small nod but Amber could tell she didn't get very far with her. She shook her head and stood up.

"Come on, you need to do something fun for a change," she insisted, holding her hand out. Sibley hesitated, but took it.

As Sibley was still a bit weak and in loads of pain, she was sitting in wheelchair as she and Amber moved through the mall. After hitting several shops and Amber insisting she buy Sibley some things as she had the money, they sat at a food court.

"Okay, okay, so sex, marry, kill, 9th doctor, 10th doctor, 11th doctor, go." Amber said. Sibley's eyes widened.

"No! You can't do that! It's not fair! Ugh… man… I guess… sex with 9… Um… ergh… marry ten and… crap, uh, hug 11!" she exclaimed.

"It was kill, not hug," Amber said.

"Well, I'm not killing any of the doctors no matter what you say. I refuse!" Sibley explained, giggling. Amber smiled, happy to see her friend happy.

"Okay so I have a plan," she announced. Sibley raised an eyebrow.

"College at Cambridge, flatmates, two kittens, and a golden Labrador. We both work at a coffee shop, you perform, I serve coffee. Then we graduate, you go work as a detective and wherever you do that, I'll set up my store that will grow into a franchise that spreads across the world and you will be the next world's most famous detective!" she explained, her eyes bright. Sibley laughed.

"Sounds like a plan. One problem though, I'm ever making it into Cambridge. I used to think I could but that was before I went back to school and realized I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was. Not like Sherlock, I got his observation skills, but that's as far as my intellect goes." she sighed. Amber flicked a chip at her, which she caught in her mouth.

"Shut up. You're just behind some. All you gotta do is get caught up and then we can go live our dreams and get away from our high maintenance fathers." Amber insisted. Sibley smiled.

"Well, I like your optimism. We'll see. No matter what, we will get a life away from our families and we're not looking back." Sibley agreed. Amber grinned and held up her soda.

"Here here." Sibley chuckled and held up her own before they both broke down into a fit of laughter.

Sibley's legs were pulled against her chest as she watched the telly. She wasn't paying much attention to what was actually happening. Her thoughts were straying. She wasn't a Holmes. No, the Holmes were smart, strong, quick. She was none of those things, struggling just to do online school, getting the crap kicked out of her, getting kidnapped. She loved too much, felt too much, let feelings consume and eat away at her. That was the main difference, really. While Sherlock and Mycroft didn't feel at all, her feelings controlled her. Maybe that's why Sherlock hated her so much. She wasn't anything like him and he was so darn prideful. So arrogant.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when Sherlock walked in, slamming the door behind him. She watched him slowly as he rushed over to his desk and moved some papers around.

"Wasn't John with you?" she asked.

"Well obviously not as he's not here!" he snapped. She flinched, cowering back into the sofa.

"S-so where is he?" she asked.

"I don't know! Stop asking stupid questions!" he snapped before sitting in the chair and pushing the laptop open.

"How was the case?" she asked quietly, voice almost a whisper.

"Fine." he grit his teeth.

"Did you figure it out?" she asked.

"Obviously not! What does it look like I'm doing? Shut up!" he exclaimed, clearly annoyed as he continued on the computer. She swallowed and hugged her legs tighter. She looked at the clock to see that it was 7:00PM, she hadn't had lunch due to lack of food and she was starving.

"Is John getting groceries? I haven't eaten all day," she said.

"No. He's with his girlfriend or something." he grumbled.

"I could go pick up the groceries I need some money, though," she offered.

"Sibley, shut up! You're fine." he growled, annoyed.

"I haven't eaten all day. Part of having a child means feeding them!" she exclaimed, suddenly gaining a burst of confidence due to her anger. He stood abruptly.

"Sibley! Get out!" he shouted, pointing to the door. She frowned, tears filling her eyes, and she ran out.

Sibley sat sipping tea on Molly Hooper's couch. She was crying but you couldn't hear it. Silent tears trailed down her cheeks. Molly slowly rubbed circles on the young girls back, trying not to let her anger at Sherlock show. Right now Sibley needed her. Sibley sighed and set her tea down before moving closer to Molly and laying her head on the pathologists shoulder.

"He shouts and insults. He's horrid, Molly,"

"Why don't you spend the night here? You could use a getaway. We can watch movies and eat junk food." Molly suggested.

"Can we invite Amber?" she asked.

"Of course! Here, you call her, I'll go to the shop and get some food. I'll see you later, love," Molly stood and walked out of her flat. She told the cabbie a destination and practically sat on the edge of her seat, seething.

"Sherlock Holmes!" she shouted, running up the stairs of 221B.

"Molly?" he asked when she walked in. She walked straight over to him and slapped him.

"How dare you. Sibley is probably the best thing that ever could have happened to you. She's sweet and caring and amazing! She is so much better than you will ever be and you're breaking her! She's called me sobbing more times than I can count and she just showed up on my doorstep looking miserable because of you. How dare you hurt her like that? She's your daughter!" Molly screeched. She saw a flicker of something pass on Sherlock's face but it was gone before she could figure out what it was.

"You're right. She is my daughter, so don't tell me how to raise her." he said.

"I'm telling you to be nice to her, Sherlock! Is that so horrible?" she asked.

"No, you're asking me to flatter her. I don't do flattery, I tell the truth." he said. Molly blinked and shook her head, tears beginning to fill her own eyes.

"Really? The truth? That's what you've been telling her?" she asked. He squinted, confused.

"Yes…"

"So you believe that, then? That she's pathetic and weak and stupid? You think that's the truth? You believe that about your daughter?" she asked. He just stared at her and she shook her head.

"Sherlock Holmes, you're a sick man and you don't deserve to be a father." with that she turned on her heel and headed towards the shops like she had told Sibley she would.

The next morning Sibley walked into 221B. Sherlock was standing next to the window, hands clasped behind his back. She frowned and shook her head, going in the direction of the room before his voice stopped her.

"So you went to Molly?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, y-yeah." she said. He turned and looked her up and down.

"You're so sensitive that you went to Molly Hooper's house, crying? Pathetic," he spat.

"I'm not pathetic, Sherlock." she said.

"All you ever do is cry lately, that or fail at school. You can't even do online classes? You're stupid and pa-"

"Shut up!" she screeched, finally. Just then John came out of his room, his eyebrows raised as he watched in curiosity.

"Sherlock Holmes you big, horrid, knobhead! You maggot, you manky arse hole! Do you have anything better to do that be an insulting prick?! Or do you just hate yourself so much you have to bring your teenage daughter down? God, you are awful, terrible, horrid. All you have done since I got back from being kidnapped was insult and shout. You're mean, arrogant, prideful! I cared about you! I thought you cared about me! You're worse than my mother, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you. I hate every single piece of you!" she didn't waste any time, she turned and ran out of the flat, ignoring John's shouts of protests. The door slammed behind her and she took out her phone.

"Amber, I need to get out. I need to get away, please come get me."

"I'm proud of you for finally standing up for yourself," Amber said as she drove into a more secluded area right outside of London.

"I was just tired of it. Tired of him." she replied.

"I get what you mean, hun." she said as they pulled up to a huge mansion away from view of outsiders. Sibley gaped.

"How come I've never been here?" she asked as they stepped out of the car.

"My dad's… well he's not someone I typically introduce my friends too, but oh well." she admitted as they walked into the house. Amber led them up a spiral staircase and into a large, teal, room. It was beautiful, elegant, and so totally Amber's style.

"Amber, it's beautiful," Sibley sighed in awe as she ran her hands over the soft comforter.

"Thanks, love. If you want you can take one of the guest rooms and stay here for a while. My dad won't mind. Promise." she said, sitting on the bed, Sibley sat next to her and looked up at her.

"Amber, thank you so much for everything. I don't know where I would be without you," she said softly. Amber just grabbed the sides of Sibley's face with her hands and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Sibley responded within an instant, moving along with her. They broke apart for air.

"I love you." Sibley whispered.

"I love you too." Amber replied.

"Amber! I see you've brought a Holmes here," they heard a man say from the doorway. They both looked over, Sibley bright red in embarrassment and Amber totally fine. Sibley's embarrassment was quickly replaced with fear when she saw the man in front of her. She recognized him from the pictures her dad kept. This man was James Moriarty.


	13. Chapter 13: Oh

Sibley's reactions were never the most normal. She didn't have flight or fight responses to anything. When she was scared, her brain scattered, her thoughts buzzed around her head, blurring together. It made it hard to make decisions in a dangerous situation, especially with her already slow processing speed. This was probably one of the biggest reasons Sherlock found her so stupid. She was incredibly slow and bad at making choices. So when Moriarty gestured for the two girls to follow, she did, not knowing what else to do.

Amber knew Sibley better than anything else, and she could sense her friends (is that what they were? She didn't even know anymore) discomfort, and gripped her hand. Sibley gave her a soft smile in gratitude. She didn't know if Amber knew this was going to happen or the relation between their fathers or the fact that Moriarty was a cold hearted killer with a line of criminals that worked for him and a lost of offenses against the law, but in that moment, she just didn't care. She knew she probably should. She could hear Sherlock in her ear calling her an emotional idiot, but she couldn't bring herself to look at Amber as the enemy. Not her Amber. Not her best friend Amber. Not the girl who was always there for her no matter what.

Moriarty led them into a surprisingly bright office, the mahogany desk and chair lit up by the sun shining through the large windows. A dark red rug sat in the middle of the room and two leather seats sat across from the desk. He gestured for them to take a seat and they did. He didn't sit on the chair behind the desk, rather, he sat on the front edge, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles.

"Don't look so frightened, Sibley, I have no intention of hurting you. Wouldn't want to upset my daughter." he said. Amber rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"Dad, stop. What do you want?" she asked, irritated. He gave a dramatic, almost theatrical, sigh.

"Amber, dear, don't be your mother. It's annoying. Besides, I'm not talking to you." he said. Sibley was half listening to him and half staring at her friend. It made since now. Amber's roots were black, her eyes were brown, her facial features were rounded. She did look like like her father.

"Sibley, don't you know it's rude to stare?" Moriarty called her back out of her thoughts. She blushed and looked at her lap.

"Though, I don't blame you, she is beautiful, she does look like me after all," he said. Amber was now also blushing as she stared at her father.

"What do you want from me?" she was surprised at the firmness in her voice. Typically, she was stuttering at this point. She should have been shaking, shrinking back in the chair, praying for an end to come soon. She realized she was more angry than afraid. An image of Amber flashed in her mind, her chin was bruised. Then she remembered the papers she knew Jim Moriarty was associated with due to her father's files. The children he had kidnapped. People he had killed. Bombs strapped to strangers all to play a game with Sherlock. He was a psychopath who hurt people for fun including Amber.

"Oh Sibley no need to be so angry. I haven't laid a finger on my daughter with ill intentions," he said, as if reading her mind, "I have only insured my daughter is well practiced." he finished. Sibley looked to Amber for more explanation. The teenager rolled her eyes again, clearly agitated with her father.

"We train. Self defense. Sometimes I get a bit hurt." she explained.

"Oh…" that only eased her anger a little. There were still grieving families and children with PTSD because this man cared about no one and nothing.

"Yes. I make sure she can protect herself. So if, for instance, a group of boys attack her, she could get away. If a certain cabbie tried to kidnap her, she could fight back," he said, raising an eyebrow. Sibley swallowed. Her self hatred burned in her chest.

"No need to be upset. It's not your fault Daddy dearest never gave you enough attention to teach you anything, but I, I can help you, Sibley," he sang her name at the end.

"Dad, what are you even talking about?" Amber snapped.

"I'm talking about Sherlock Holmes." he said, drawing out Sibley's fathers name in a way that put her at unease.

"Oh, right… You promised me you wouldn't. You promised you'd leave Sibley out of whatever sick thing you were planning," Amber said, her voice getting louder with each word. Funny, while Sibley was becoming calm, Amber's rage was growing.

"Shut up, Amber, you can be so dull sometimes. Sibley, I see the potential in you that your father can't. You can become amazing. I want to invest." he said. Sibley and Amber shared a glance before she looked back up at the smirking man.

"Invest?" she asked, confused. Moriarty groaned loudly again.

"Sibley!" he barked, "I can make you into everything you want to be. I can teach you to protect yourself. I can draw out the talents you've wasted and buried on account of your mother. You can live here and learn. Besides, I know you want to be closer to Amber," he smirked again at the end, looking between the two girls.

"What are the conditions?" she asked, suspicious. Moriarty broke out into a full grin.

"Ah, good girl. Smart question. You have to stay here. You can't contact your father, of course, eventually, you'll join my team," he said. She tilted her head, considering. He could help her. She could grow and finally be strong enough and smart enough that no one could ever help her. She could prove to her father she wasn't everything he said he was. But, then she would have to help him. She would have to be a part of all the evil

"No." she said.

"No?" he asked.

"No. In all honesty, you just want me so you can get to my father. His own flesh and blood going to his worst enemy? That'll hurt. I can do that. I can stay here and learn and you can even pretend that I'm actually a part of all of this, but I won't help you murder and steal and hurt." she said. He threw his head back and laughed.

"Oh, you are fun! Of course, I agree to your terms. You don't have to help with anything, just act. If I need you to be a pretty little actress in my games with your father, you will do that." he said. She nodded.

"I think I can manage that." she said.

"Alright, you two are dismissed for now," he waved them off and they stood walking out.

They were silent as they walked down the long, wide, corridor. The home was beautiful and fascinating but Sibley knew she wouldn't find the same comfort in it that she had had in Baker Street. She shook the thought away, Baker Street hadn't been comfortable in months. Not since she was kidnapped and Sherlock changed. She was always on edge there, especially when he was home. No. She needed this. Needed to learn to be strong, to be confident in herself.

They arrived in Amber's room and Sibley slowly lowered herself onto the bed. It was quiet for a moment before Amber let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you, what with my dad and your dad being, like, arch enemies or something stupid and dramatic like that. I just… I didn't want to lose you because of our stupid parents. We've both suffered enough due to them," she rambled before plopping down next to her and laying her head on Sibley's shoulder, "We need each other." she muttered. Sibley rested her head on her friends.

"I'm not mad." she said, voice soft.

"Good." Amber swallowed, shaking at the idea of Sibley deciding she hated her or something.

"Am," Sibley said, nudging her. Amber sat up and looked at her, expectant, "It's okay." she rested her hand on Amber's cheek. After a few seconds they both leaned in continuing what Moriarty had interrupted. The kiss deepened and Sibley was so lost in the action she barely processed the fact that she was snogging her best friend.

When they finally moved apart, her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling. Amber's hair was frizzy and disarray from Sibley's hands having been buried in it.

"Oh…" Sibley said, looking down.

"Oh." Amber agreed. They sat like that. Silent and processing.

 **So I'm sorry but I'm suffering from girl pains right now and I just want to curl up on the couch and play Skyrim and going back and forth to look at and then answer reviews just seems like to much rn. Lame excuse, I know, but give me a break! I will come back later and reply hopefully! Just know I look at all of your reviews and they bring me so much joy and happiness!**

 **Also! This book is on Archive Of Our Own and I post chapters on there first and it typically takes a few hours (sometimes I forget so it can even take a few days) to post it on here, so if you want to get it quicker, you may want to always look there first!**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading!**


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